I Will Fight Til The End
by sazza-da-vampire
Summary: Family Matters. Legolas and two others a caught in a cave-in with devastating consequences. Crippled beyond hope of ever walking again, one young warrior is doomed to fade. One step at a time, Legolas' cousin must fight for every breath, every heartbeat. One young healer fights the first battles, but it will ultimately be up to the warrior to fight the long war against despair.
1. The Cave

Disclaimer: I own nothing recognisable.

The Elves of the Greenwood are not like the Elves of Imladris, or Mithlond, or Lothlorien. They do not leave Arda, unless by death in battle. They do not waste lives when there is a choice to not fight. They do not give up on their own. Legolas and his cousin are no exceptions.

Prologue: The Cave

Legolas opened his eyes, but there was no difference but for intense, burning, grating pain. Clenching his eyes closed again, he felt blindly about him. Dust filled the air, but of more immediate concern to Legolas was the rocks; for the passageway he had been exploring but a minute earlier, was now reduced to rubble. The lanterns had gone out. He rose from his protective crouch, dashed his head against a rock, and flinched back, this time feeling the way with his hands before getting back to his feet. The air felt thick, and he felt something slowly trickling down his forehead. He attempted to open his eyes, and this time it hurt less, but there was still no light to see by.

There was a sound, though. To his right, and a little in front, he could hear quiet sobbing. "Aldanna?" he called, for his cousin had been in front of him when the ceiling started to rumble.

The sobbing was cut off with a quick breath, and his cousin's voice answered, though it was unusually weak. "Legolas?"

He sighed with relief. She was awake, that was something. But they hadn't been alone in the caves, he remembered. His bodyguard and best friend had come with them. "Tathar?" he called, waiting with baited breath for an answer. None came.

Legolas was starting to panic. They had no light, the air was so full of dust that his lungs were already straining, and heavy rocks surrounded them, in every direction he reached.

With a sinking feeling, Legolas realised that Tathar might have been crushed.

He was hyperventilating. A voice came out of the darkness before him. "Legolas. You have to calm down. In, two three, out, two, three, can you do that for me? Breathe with me. In, two three, out, two, three," as the familiar voice counted aloud, Legolas calmed down, breathing slowly and deeply. After a time, he had control of his breathing, and achieved a calm, clear head.

"I'm alright," Legolas called back, once he was able to think clearly. "I think I was just in shock. Are you alright?"

"No," Aldanna replied, tight lipped. The strain on her voice made it clear to Legolas, now that he was thinking normally, that she was in an immense amount of pain. "Can you move?" she asked, and Legolas attempted to feel the rocks and boulders surrounding him.

"I can stand," he replied, "but the passage is completely blocked behind me."

"Alright," she forced through her pain, "are you injured?"

"No," he answered. "Most of the rocks fell behind or in front of me." He gingerly stepped towards her voice, and came up short when his head made contact with a great, strong root. A sharp burst of pain reminded him of the fresh wound on his forehead. "There is a root here, the rocks must have fallen either side of it."

"Or it got so excited that the bloody tree moved," Aldanna muttered through gritted teeth. She must have been in a lot of pain, because she was not in the habit of using sarcasm, and usually trees were her favourite thing in the world.

"I think I can move these rocks, make us a way out," Legolas called, feeling the rock wall behind him. Many of the rocks here were relatively small, and he could lift them without difficulty. "I might be able to free Tathar." They heard a clatter as Legolas shifted one of the rocks, causing a small slide of pebbles.

"Maybe. But he's unconscious or dead, and I'm afraid I need your help, right now." The voice which floated out of the darkness nearly stopped Legolas' heart.

"What do you mean?" he asked cautiously, turning back around. He cracked his eyes open, but the absolute blackness meant he saw nothing. The dust had settled a bit, and so his eyes did not grate or burn, fortunately.

"There is a rock on my leg. My thigh is bleeding, a lot. You need to lift it off me, and then tie your cloak around my thigh to stop the bleeding before I lose too much blood."

Legolas gulped. "Keep talking," he ordered, and he followed her voice, as she described her condition. With every word, Legolas' heart sank further. She had a large rock on her thigh, and she was seriously concerned that the bone was crushed. That same leg's ankle was bent inwards, and she could not free it from between rocks. The other foot she could not feel at all, and she wasn't even sure that she still had a foot, for she felt only the sharp edge of a broken rock on her shin, other than blinding pain. A rock had painfully hit her back during the fall, and she was unsure if it had settled on top of her, for she could sense little other than pain. Smaller rocks would leave bruises all over her body, and she felt something sticky on her forehead, which could only be blood. She had fallen forwards, and attempted to catch her weight with her arms, which she thought might be broken.

When he reached her, he knelt beside her in the darkness.

"We will make it out of here alive, Aldanna. I promise."

"Then take this rock off me before I bleed out!" she screeched shrilly, before biting the sound off sharply. "I'm sorry. I need you to put a tourniquet on my leg. Now."

Legolas knelt in the cramped space, fitting himself in between two large rocks. Luckily, neither of them had landed on her. He reached forward, to find that she had indeed been knocked forwards by the rocks, and was lying prone. "Don't move," he instructed as he ran his hands from her shoulder, down her back to find the rock. "Is this the one?" he asked, slightly lifting the rock from her leg.

Aldanna shrieked, the sound echoing eerily through the tunnel. "Yes," she managed to say, squeezing the words out of gritted teeth. "I am going to faint when you remove it," she warned him. "You will have to put pressure on it. Use your cloak to make a tourniquet." He took the cloak off quickly, hoping that she actually knew what she was talking about. Her father was a healer, and his mother was, too, but neither of them had any formal training themselves, though they had watched their parents any number of times.

"I will. Ready?" he asked, and she took a deep breath.

"Ready," she confirmed.

Legolas lifted the rock away in one great heave, putting it on the rock-dusted floor in a space between two boulders. Ignoring Aldanna's screaming, he threaded the cloak under the wound, and over, and under it again, tightening it with a great pull before tying it closed. Breathing hard, he reached forward to check on his cousin once more. She was unresponsive to touch and voice; and Legolas took the opportunity to palpate her arms for fractures. Luckily, neither arm had any large breaks, but he wondered if perhaps a smaller fracture would be found when they got out of here.

He refused to believe that they were going to die here.

Legolas was now the only one of the three trapped who was conscious. He stood, picked his way back to the root, and placed his hand on it, speaking directly to the tree with his fëa.

The tree was very distressed, something Legolas had never seen before in a plant. He had seen a few trees, immediately surrounding Dol Guldor, which had black hearts and were wholly evil, but this tree was something else entirely.

It felt guilty.

Aldanna's scathing comment about the tree getting excited wasn't far off the mark. It seemed that the tree had felt the approach of the Elves, and had stretched a root closer in order to greet them.

The movement, though, had loosened the rock in which the tree clung to the mountainside.

Legolas asked the tree to deliver a message for him, to which the tree immediately agreed. "Three Elves are in a cave-in in the mountains. Legolas is uninjured and alert. Aldanna is bleeding out. Tathar is missing, presumed dead. Rocks completely block the passage out. Send help!"

The tree passed the message along the vast network of roots which underlay the Greenwood. Legolas allowed himself a moment to relax, for help would come.

Shaking himself back to alertness, Legolas approached the mountain of rocks which blocked the entrance, and presumably crushed Tathar.

It was slow going, and soon Legolas' hands were coated with dirt and dried dust, but he finally managed to move many of the surface rocks into the space under the root. Legolas was nearly blinded when a chink of light entered through a space as he cleared a rock near the top of the pile. Light! They were quite deep in the caves, but a single lantern glowed just beyond the rockfall. Tathar must have dropped it when the rocks fell.

Legolas continued moving rocks, slowly making a dent in the wall. His hand fell upon something soft, and with a shout of joy, he realised that he had found Tathar. He cleared the small rocks first, and found his friend's hand. A moment later, he'd cleared a few more rocks, allowing him to check Tathar's pulse.

Legolas couldn't quite believe his luck when he found the pulse, strong and regular.

He kept moving rocks, but now he was concentrating on getting Tathar unburied. He realisedhe other ellon must be enclosed in a pocket of air, which meant he could breathe, though the air was as dusty here as it was where Legolas had fallen. The light from the lantern was useless, merely casting a small ray of light far above Legolas' head, illuminating the jagged edges of the rocks above, which still threatened to fall again.

Legolas pulled a larger rock from pinning Tathar's shoulder, and suddenly there was a space, and Legolas gingerly reached in, following his friend's arm to his shoulder and then lightly tracing his face. His eyes were closed, and there was a raised bump forming already on his head, but he was breathing. He was unconscious, but alive.

Legolas worked to free the other ellon with a single-minded determination. His promise to Aldanna rang through his ears. We will make it out of here alive.

Some of the rocks Legolas lifted were large, others small, and in the dark he occasionally struggled to find a place to put them that would not block the way to Aldanna. With a gentle sputter, contrasting strongly with the scraping of the rocks and the wheeze of Legolas' laboured breathing, the lantern went out.

The utter darkness returned, with the loss of that tiny glow on the uneven ceiling. Though Legolas could see no less of his task than he had before, the darkness now weighed on him, for he could no longer look up and see the threatening rocks above – they became silent and invisible threats, hanging over his head. Occasionally rocks fell, knocked loose by Legolas' attempts to dig his friend out. One fell, bouncing off his shoulder, and Legolas gritted his teeth, determind to finish digging his friend out, while a shower of smaller rocks and dirt fell upon him. Suddenly, as he liften a large rock off Tathar's chest, a rock directly above his head became unstable, and dashed against his head.

He did not even have time to realise that they were all going to die, trapped in this dark tomb, before he lost all consciousness.


	2. Die Another Day

Disclaimer: I own nothing recognisable

Die Another Day

Legolas woke with a start. The darkness still pressed upon him, and merely breathing caused him to cough uncontrollably for a few minutes. Dust still filled the air, though it had mostly settled, and was only stirred up by movement, as he found when he tried to feel for his surroundings.

"Aldanna! Tathar!" he called, cursing himself for falling asleep. In the darkness, he fumbled around until he reached Tathar, who was now free of debris, though he had not yet woken. He thought the ellon's head wound accounted for that, though he likely had other injuries. Feeling his best friend's chest now only caused him to worry, for there was tacky blood coating it unevenly, and each breath was strained and effortful. It seemed his chest had been hit by a particularly massive rock, and Legolas was quite sure that he suffered a number of rib fractures. Every breath the elf took caused the front of his chest to move strangely, and Legolas could do nothing to help. Reaching up through the darkness to find his friend's neck, Legolas checked his carotid, hoping that he would not find a weak or irregular pulse on top of everything else.

Tathar's pulse was still strong, and so Legolas moved towards the second pile of debris, where Aldanna still lay, being careful not to dash his hed against the rocky outcrops in the ceiling once more. He had successfully cleared the rocks from her back before falling asleep, but he still worried for his cousin.

She was breathing, he could hear it, but when he checked her pulse (at her neck, where he shouldn't jostle any fractures) it was weak and irregular. Worried, Legolas attempted to check her wounds, but he was no healer, and he had no light. All he knew was that the cloak wrapped around her thigh was soaked with tacky blood, and that was bad. Aldanna was not a large Elf, and she would not survive losing too much blood.

He went back to the root which had caused this whole mess, and asked it to relay another message. "Tathar has been found. Unconscious, head wound, chest wound. Aldanna is unconscious and still bleeding. We are still trapped."

He kept his hands on the root while the tree it was attached to sent the message, and moments later it told Legolas that it had a reply. "_Healers and excavators are two days away. Do not move Aldanna. Put pressure on the wound."_

Legolas rolled his eyes in the darkness. He may not be a healer, but he knew not to move a patient with unstable fractures! Returning to Aldanna, he took her cloak off, shaking it out in an attempt to remove the dirt and dust. He added the second cloak over the first, again threading it under the leg and crossing the ends over, though this time he did not fasten them. Holding the ends tightly, he pulled, wincing when she screamed, for he must have woken her when he moved her leg.

_We have only to last this night_, he reminded himself. _Help will come in two days, and we will be safe_.

"Aldanna?" he asked, keeping the pressure on her leg. "Are you awake?"

She did not answer, and so Legolas assumed that she had fallen unconscious from the pain. He had no wish to know how painful this must be for her.

Legolas snapped around at the sound of whimpering breaths. "Tathar?" he called, and the sound was interrupted by a sharp intake of breath. "Can you hear me?"

A moment of silence passed, while Legolas waited, very still, desperately hoping that his best friend would answer. "Yes," the thin voice finally came.

"How do you feel?" Legolas asked, tying a tight knot in the cloak he'd been holding about Aldanna's thigh.

Tathar groaned, and Legolas picked his way towards him as fast as he could. "Everything hurts. My chest – I don't – my chest, it hurts to breathe, so much."

"Shh, don't talk. I think you have a few broken ribs." Legolas reached Tathar who seemed a little dazed, as well as in immense pain.

"What happened?" Tathar asked, clearly ignoring Legolas' attempts to keep him quiet.

"Rockfall. You got crushed."

"Aldanna?" Tathar asked shortly, already struggling for breath.

"Open femur fracture, I think. Possibly fractured wrists. Head wound. I can't tell much more in the dark. You have a head wound, too. You were unconscious for hours. Help is two days away."

"Don't you die, Legolas," Tathar murmured, before falling asleep or perhaps unconscious.

Legolas sighed. "I won't. I can't. If I die, we all die. And I will not let that happen."

_I won't let any of us die. Not today_, he promised himself, before feeling his way to the great wall of rocks which blocked off the passageway. Slowly and carefully, he removed the rocks one at a time, attempting to make a way through, while trying not to cause another collapse. It was painfully slow in the absolute darkness, but there was nothing else he could do.

.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the rockfall:

"What is this?" Gloin roared, furious to see his beautiful new mine had collapsed. "Dain, when I left last week this tunnel was straight as a sword. Straight down to the diamond mine!"

King Dain of Erebor rolled his eyes. "Well, get to clearing. Gimli, find a way to shore up the walls. We don't want another collapse."

Gimli obeyed his King, while others went out to gather logs and other materials with which to reinforce the ceiling.

Soon, the walls were shored up, and rocks were coming out. The dwarves worked quickly and efficiently, until someone noticed the lantern sitting innocently on the floor. "Now where did you come from?" old Oin asked, picking up the pretty lantern. "Don't this remind you of the Mirkwood passages, brother?"

Gloin turned around, taking the lantern from his ageing brother's grasp. "Aye, it does. The glass is still warm," he commented, noticing the broken glass windows of the lantern. "This was used recently."

Without warning, Gimli took a large rock from the pile, and came face-to-face with the dirtiest person he had ever seen.

Dirt, blood and dust covered a pale face, and in the glow of the dwarf-lights, his eyes glittered with an unearthly light. Tangled flaxen hair fell out of messy braids, and rosebud lips were open in a shocked 'O'.

"Father, we've got a survivor!" Gimli called, and the mouth snapped shut, though the survivor's eyes stayed very wide. Wide pupils were quickly constricting in the glow of the Dwarves' lamps, revealing bright blue irises.

The Elf, for he clearly was no Man, dropped a rock behind him, staring at the unexpected rescuers.

Gloin appeared by Gimli's side, and he reached a hand forward to the Elf. "Come on out, master Elf. You're safe, now."

The elf took the dwarf's gnarled hand, stepping lightly over the scattered rocks still half-blocking the passageway. He started babbling in some version of Elvish, which the Dwarves stood no chance of understanding, but he kept pointing back, and eventually Gimli realised that someone else was in the rockfall.

"There's another one!" Gimli shouted when he realised what the Elf was going on about. "He might be hurt, if he ain't walkin' ou' yet!"

Gimli and another strong young Dwarf entered the fall, carrying glowing rocks to light the way. Sure enough, just through the gap, a badly battered Elf lay, bruised and bloody from a head wound, and weakly supporting his ribs with his arms and hands. "I need a stretcher!" Gimli called, kneeling by the Elf. "Hi there," he said to the suffering Elf. "I'm Gimli, this is my father's mine you're in. We're gonna get you out nice and quick, and you'll be jus' fine."

With concern, Gimli noticed that the Elf was clenching his eyes shut, and his hands were curling, as if he wanted to cover his eyes but could not move them from his ribs. "We got a brain wound!" he called through the gap in the rocks, and moved the glowing rock so that no light fell directly on the Elf's eyes. He relaxed, falling limply into what seemed to be sleep, and Gimli waited for a stretcher to appear through the gap. While he waited he spoke in a low voice to the Elf, though he doubted his words were heard. A short time later, Rili, a dwarf a little younger than Gimli, appeared in the gap with a crude stretcher made from cloaks stretched across a rough frame.

Rili and Gimli hauled the Elf onto the makeshift stretcher. Rili took the foot end, noticing a plethora of black bruises and small cuts, and Gimli took the head, and they carefully clambered out of the gap. Setting the Elf down on the ground, the first Elf visibly relaxed, rushing to his friend's side. "He's alive," the elf said, in perfect, though accented, Westron. He looked up, his bloody features turning him into an absolute monster in the dim light. "Did you find my cousin? Further in, there's a second fall. You'll need a stretcher, there are so many broken bones."

Gimli wasted no more time, as more Dwarves used another three cloaks and some freshly hewn wood to create a second stretcher. He clambered back into the darkness, bringing his little glow-rock with him. Sure enough, there was a narrow space with few large rocks, and then a second rock wall loomed. On the floor, in a space cleared of rocks, was a third Elf, this one lying on his stomach, with a tight binding around one leg. Dirt and small rocks were tangled into once-delicate braids, and fine golden hair spilled in tangled knots down the elf's shoulders.

Gimli was no healer, but he knew a tourniquet when he saw one. That leg would have to come off, and this Elf would be crippled forever. Taking a deep breath, he approached the silent figure, and was surprised when it spoke.

The language was Elvish, and Gimli understood none of it, but the elf seemed to be describing his injuries. Gimli knelt beside him, and placed one hand on his shoulder, lightly. "My name is Gimli, my father owns this mine. We will put you on a stretcher, and we'll get you out of here. Do you speak Westron?"

A few moments passed, but the Elf did answer, in a tight voice clipped by pain. The accent matched the first Elf, but Gimli could hear pain in every word. "Yes. My left thigh is crushed. My left foot is at least sprained, at worst broken. I cannot move. I did not feel my right foot, now I do not feel anything below the waist. Do I have a right foot?"

Gimli chuckled gently, hoping that the Elf was not serious and was just joking. "You have both feet, laddie, for now. Anything else I should know before we get you on that stretcher?"

"My head is, I do not know the word. Hurts. Falling. Spinning. I landed on my wrists, now they ache."

"Alright, laddie, we'll get you up on this stretcher, then," Gimli said, for indeed Rili and another youth had arrived with another stretcher. "Careful, lads," Gimli cautioned them before they picked the Elf up. "Let's try not to jostle any of these breaks."


	3. Unexpected Developments

Disclaimer: I own nothing recognisable. Assessments and treatments mentioned are not meant to be used as a guide and are not based on high quality research evidence, they are intended as plot devices only.

Unexpected Developments

With one smooth, coordinated movement, the Dwarves rolled the Elf onto the stretcher, to find this Elf's face and head covered in even more blood that the first Elf. "Let's move out," Gimli ordered, and the three Dwarves lifted the stretcher, carefully manoeuvring their way into the clear passageway.

The first Elf was very concerned, clearly, for when Gimli finally cleared the rockfall with the Elf, he immediately started chattering away in very fast Elvish, no doubt questioning the elf, who had lost consciousness when he'd been rolled over.

They moved out of the tunnel with the three Elves, two on stretchers and the third closely watched by Gloin and Dain. They reached the entrance, and the first Elf cried when he saw the sunlight, falling to his knees as he turned his face to the sun, chanting in Elvish.

Gimli placed the stretcher with the third Elf on the ground, and Rili stretched his back out, grumbling about heavy Elves. In the sunlight, the Elf's wounds looked even worse, so Gimli headed over to the stream, took a handkerchief from his pocket, and soaked it to clean the blood off the Elf's face.

Dain had managed to order the first Elf to sit, and Gloin soon was wiping blood off his face with another wet handkerchief.

Gimli's patient opened his eyes at his touch, and he reintroduced himself to the Elf. "I'm Gimli. You fell asleep while we took you out of that cave-in there. Can you tell me your name?"

"Aldanna," the Elf replied, through gasps of pain. Gimli tried to remember the questions healers among the Dwarves asked to check if brains were injured after a Dwarf suffered a head injury.

"When were you born?" The date the Elf quoted was about two hundred years earlier, shortly after Gloin had been born. Gimli was surprised, he thought all Elves were thousands of years old.

Meanwhile, Gloin was asking the first Elf similar questions. They discovered that his name was Legolas, and he had been born only a few days earlier than his cousin Aldanna.

Oin, who was checking the second Elf, managed to get a name, Tathar, and a birthdate a year after the two other Elves. However, this elf had a headache which sounded an awful lot like a concussion with horrible light sensitivity.

Gimli's Elf, Aldanna, answered the series of questions slowly but steadily. He suffered from dizziness, it seemed, but otherwise his head seemed fine. He still had no sensation in his legs. He soon lost his grip on consciousness, falling into a deep sleep from which Gimli could not rouse him.

Gimli was just thinking of a rude comment regarding how feminine these Elves all looked, when he finished cleaning the blood off Aldanna's face, revealing a very delicate bone structure with prominent cheekbones and a heart-shaped face. He moved on to check the bleeding on that leg, when he realised that the Elf's chest was rather swollen.

The swelling seemed to be localised to two areas, perfectly symmetrical and gently rounded. He was about to rip the elf's tunic open to examine the wounds when he realised what was under the layers of leather and fabric.

Scarlet-faced, the young Dwarf realised that this elf was not male after all – it was a she-elf!

Determinedly leaving her tunic alone, he very carefully checked the wound on her thigh, seeing that it was still seeping blood, and so he put a bit more pressure on it, holding the long, thin leg between his hands and squeezing.

They sent most of the Dwarves back in to keep clearing the tunnel, but Dain, Oin, Gloin and Gimli remained to look after the three unfortunate trespassers.

Hopefully someone would come soon. The new alliance with the Elves of Mirkwood was very delicate, and Gimli was aware that no-one outside of Gloin's expedition knew about the new diamond mine, so the Elves couldn't officially be accused of trespassing, even if technically they had been doing so. The Elves would only have seen a new tunnel formation in a mountain a little south of Erebor and the Elvenking's Halls, on the edge of the wood. No doubt they were just exploring.

The first Elf, Legolas, was having trouble breathing. Gloin hammered on his back until he started coughing, hacking up globs of black-brown mucous. The Elf soon fell unconscious, likely from lack of good air while he'd been clearing his lungs and airways of the dust which had filled the air in the tunnel. Tathar soon joined Legolas in unconscious peace, as he struggled for each breath.

A few hours later, Gloin did not know what to do. The first Elf, Legolas, had woken, but he was quite useless, and seemed to have forgotten how to speak Westron. He clearly was not injured, except for the relatively small cuts on his head and the continuing problem of dust clogging his airways.

Tathar, the second Elf, was getting worse, slowly but steadily. His head wound had blossomed into a colourful, raised bruise, and he had a very noticeable flail chest, from so many ribs fractures. Dain did not look forward to notifying the Elvenking of the situation, for if these Elves died Thranduil could well decide to nullify the fragile alliance.

The female elf was in serious danger, as far as Oin could tell. She was certainly going to lose that left leg, and she was still unresponsive.

The dwarves camped that night, reluctant to move the Elves far, on the off-chance that their kin might be looking for them. There was little a Dwarven healer could do for these Elves anyway, and the journey home was long and dangerous.

The dawn had not broken on the second day before riders were upon them, pulling up short upon almost riding over the Dwarves in the deceptive pre-dawn light. The horses whinnied and protested the sudden halt, and ten Elves jumped off the horses, talking over each other for a moment until one shouted a single word which must have meant silence, for silence immediately fell.

By now all the Dwarves had awoken, and Dain stepped forward, introducing himself to the red-haired Elvish woman. "King Dain of Erebor, at your service."

"Lady Caranfinril of Eryn Galen at yours," the elf responded, hesitantly, as if unsure if this was the correct response.

Gloin stepped forward, drawing the attention of the five Elves. "Gloin, this is my brother Oin and my son Gimli," he pointed out the dwarves hovering over the injured Elves. "We dug some of your people out of that cave yonder when it collapsed on them."

"We thank you for your kindness," Caranfinril responded sincerely. "Tell me what you have done," she instructed, stepping towards the first Elf, who had fallen asleep overnight and still slept deeply.

Gloin explained all he knew, and was distracted for a moment when a dark-haired male Elven healer cried out, falling to his knees by the female patient. "_Aldanna! My daughter! Stay with me, I'm here, Ada's here, I'm here,_" he fell to repeating the Elvish words, gently stroking the younger elleth's face and hair.

"Aldanna is his daughter," Caranfinril explained. An Elf-maid was fussing over Legolas, checking him over thoroughly before drawing him into a tight hug, sobbing with relief. "Legolas is her last living brother," she explained to Gloin, who nodded empathetically. "Tathar is his son," she added, nodding to the Elven warrior hugging the second Elf, Tathar, close.

"Gloin, Oin, Gimli, and all honourable Dwarves, I would like to introduce my company. Neldororn is Tathar's father," she gestured to the Elvish warrior sobbing by his son's side, futilely attempting to wake the young Elf. She directed the Dwarves' attention to the three armed warriors who stood awkwardly a little away from the group, and said, "the brothers are Nar-rhîw and Mallaer, and the tall fellow is Celebglín. They are warriors, and were expecting to dig the young ones out. My sister is Cûldol, we are the most senior healers present." Her sister had the same distinctive red hair as she did herself. "Gillion is the healer with light brown hair. Malthon is Aldanna's father, and Legolas' uncle. Nímloth is Legolas' sister. Brethildíl is Tathar's cousin. They are all healers who refused to stay at home when they heard the youths were injured and trapped."

"How could you possibly have known?" Dain asked, wondering if the information could be of use to his Kingdom. He had long known that the Elves possessed a secret means to communicate, and wondered if it was like the Dwarves' method of sending voices through rock.

"You might call it Elf-magic. We are wood-elves, at need we can send messages through the forest itself," Cûldol answered for her sister, before returning her attention to examining Tathar.

"Let me see Legolas," Caranfinril instructed the brunette who held her brother close. "Nímloth, I want you with Aldanna, right now," she added, putting the healer to work.

"He's fine," she declared a short while later of Legolas. "Gillion, keep an eye on him, when he wakes make him cough, any way you can. Keep listening to his chest every half hour. Tell me if you stop hearing breath sounds, or if they get louder than normal. The wheeze is the dust and retained secretions."

She moved on to assess Aldanna, pushing the elleth's father away to do a neurological check. "Brethildíl, make splints. We need to stabilise this femur and both ankles. Nímloth, keep her alive and breathing. I'm going to reduce the ankle fracture."

Gloin's attention got stolen away by Cûldol, shouting something about eyes before slipping into her native tongue. "_I need to relieve the pressure on his brain! Malthon, suture kit and scalpel! Brethildíl, set up a vein vine with anaesthetic! Gillion, get me water to keep the field clean! Caranfinril, I need you to assist! _And for the love of Eru someone get Neldororn out of here!"

The two Elven warriors who looked so similar they might be twins immediately converged on Neldororn, physically dragging the protesting older warrior away from his injured son. A healer took a sharp knife and hacked at the injured Elf's hair, taking off a large section of hair at the root.

To Gloin's horror, the two red haired Elvish healers proceeded to cut Tathar's scalp open, quickly and efficiently exposing skull. The remaining Elven warrior looked as green as any of the Dwarves, staring at the young Elf's head being sliced open by surprisingly calm healers. Only one was shouting, and each string of words was followed by immediate action from the other healers.

Someone shouted for a chisel and mallet, which Gimli provided, eyes wide when he came close enough to smell the blood, which Gillion was washing away with a bladder of clear water. Suddenly the blood stopped coming, and Gloin realised that Brethildíl had sunk a long vine into Tathar's elbow, under the skin, and a bladder was stitched to the other end, which the healer asked the tall warrior-Elf Celebglín to hold high.

Cûldol placed the chisel carefully upon the skull, and expertly tapped it with the mallet, cracking the bone with a sharp sound. More than a few Dwarves felt faint upon seeing and hearing this, while one or two of the Elves looked a little green, including Brethildíl who seemed to be younger and less experienced than her fellow healers.

Before Gloin knew what was happening, a sizeable chunk of skull was being removed from the patient, and another Elven healer was cutting Tathar's abdomen open, placing the removed piece of skull inside, and stitching it back closed. Cûldol closed the skin back over, but the image of brain exposed to the world would haunt the dwarf ever after.

The Elvish healers breathed a sigh of relief, then returned to caring for the other two patients, leaving only Cûldol watching over Tathar. "What did you do to him?" Gloin asked quietly, coming to sit by the fiery redhead.

"His brain was swelling. Inside the skull there is nowhere for extra fluid to go, and so pressure builds. This can press on the nerves. When I saw his eyes were non-reactive and dilated, I realised that we had to release the pressure. If you look now," she demonstrated, opening her patient's eyes and letting the sunlight flood them, "you'll see his pupils constrict, and he does not flinch to light now. We can rest easy for the moment."

"Will he be alright, then? He will heal?"

"Tathar," she started, glancing up to Gloin, "is a warrior and a bodyguard. He must heal, for he has trained his whole life for those professions. I am not concerned about his brain, but I am concerned about this flail chest. It is difficult for him to breathe, and I want to wire his ribs together, which means we have to open his chest up. We can reattach the skull flap when he is out of danger."

Gloin nodded, still in a measure of shock from watching the Elves seemingly butcher their comrade. He did seem better now, though he still showed much strain while attempting to breathe. "Will he survive?"

"Yes," Cûldol answered confidently as she took a long, wide bandage from one of her saddlebags. . "He will survive. For the moment I can only apply a binder to his ribs, which will make breathing less painful, though he will not be getting enough air to achieve consciousness. Soon I will replace the skull flap. He will face months of rehabilitation, but he will survive. He will likely return to duty within the year."

"What of the others?" Gloin asked, looking across the way to the group of healers bustling about the elleth. "The girl will lose the leg, will she not?"

Cûldol glanced across the campsite to where her sister and two other healers tended Aldanna. "If the Valar are kind, she will keep the leg."

"She was awake when my son pulled her out," Gloin commented. "But saving that leg might be for naught. Gimli said that she could not feel anything below the waist. But Legolas claims that she initially could, which is how they knew in the darkness that the leg needed a tourniquet."

The healer's brows knitted in concern. "You mean it's been progressing since the injuries?"

"I believe so," Gloin confirmed.

"Caranfinril! She's got swelling in her spinal canal!"


	4. To Save A Life

Disclaimer: I own nothing recognisable. The assessments and treatments mentioned are not meant to be used as a guide and are not based on high quality research evidence, they are intended as plot devices only.

To Save a Life

The redhead lifted Aldanna's right leg onto her own bent knee, and tapped below the knee sharply. Nothing happened. She attempted twice more with no response. She shouted something in Elvish.

Suddenly the Elves were in a flurry. One started searching through saddlebags, while the others converged around Aldanna, rolling her onto her back and barking orders in Elvish, kneeling around her. Gimli, Gloin and the other Dwarves stood back, keeping out of the way, though they watched with keen eyes.

One of the redheads took a knife to the Elf's back, cutting deeply into the flesh. Blood welled up immediately, and the other redhead pressed on the wound with a cloth, soaking up the red fluid.

The healer with curly brown hair set up a new bladder and vein vine, holding it high, and soon the bleeding slowed, and ultimately stopped.

Now they were scooping handfuls of bloody mess out of the girl's spine. When the gunk was gone, they stitched it back together calmly.

The healers rolled her back over, and one lifted her right leg, hooking it over her bent knee. With a sharp tap below the knee, the leg kicked back, and this caused the healers to sigh in relief. "It worked," one murmured in Westron. "I've never seen a patient in time to prevent the secondary damage."

"Let's address this leg while the herbs stem the bloodflow. I don't want to use them too often, in case her blood clots and gets stuck in her lungs. Brethildíl, get more sinew for sutures. Gillion, add the strongest painkillers you can find. She'll need them now that the spinal cord is working. If we can save this leg, she might walk again."

In a matter of moments, as Gloin and the Elves who were not healers watched, and the girl's father protested, the healers took the tourniquet off the leg.

Almost immediately, as Gloin watched in horror, the tightly wrapped cloaks were cut off, and bright red blood spurted out of Aldanna's leg, spraying thick red lifeblood over one healer, who blinked and gaped in shock as her cousin's blood dripped through her tangled braids and stained her tunic. Cûldol cut deeply into the wound, opening it further, while her sister reached in, shouting for a burning stick. Gloin pulled a small brand out of the fire, and Gillion took it from the Dwarf, wide-eyed as he rushed back to Aldanna's side. Caranfinril shoved the burning brand deep into the leg, and suddenly the blood stopped coming.

Numb, Gloin sat down, hard, by the fire. Malthon was forced by two other Elves (who were not healers) to sit far from his dying daughter. In the strengthening sunlight, the spattering of blood turned the Elvish father into the very picture of despair.

Nímloth, the healer who had been caught in the blood spurt, left the group of healers around Aldanna, breathing too quickly as she searched for something. "Water," she gasped between shallow, quick breaths.

Gimli reached up to the hyperventilating healer, took her hand, and led her to the stream, which was not far away. She should have seen it from the campsite. When they reached the stream, she knelt, placed her hands in the water, and watched, mesmerised, as the blood swirled from her fingers in little eddies and currents.

Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, Gimli dipped it in the water, and offered it to the Elven lady with a few kind words. She did not react, except to turn her blood-covered face to Gimli, and look at the young Dwarf with wide eyes.

Gimli wiped the cloth over her face, clearing the blood slowly but steadily. Each time he rinsed the cloth, the water in the little slow-flowing creek turned redder. Finally, her face and neck were clean. There was little Gimli could do about her clothes here in the wilderness, for the blood continued down her chest, soaking into the soft fabric of her shirt.

Suddenly she spoke, as Gimli rinsed the handkerchief one last time. Her voice was thin, hollow, and the accent was strong. "I know blood. I have given birth to twins. I am no stranger to blood. I have treated warriors injured on patrol for hundreds of years. This is too much blood."

"Don't you worry, Miss," Gimli answered, though he had little to say that might comfort her.

"My cousin will die. I have seen femoral bleeds before. She does not have enough blood. I have seen patients die from one, before my eyes. I am a monster for thinking this way, but I am glad it is not Legolas. I could not survive watching my last brother die."

While Gimli attempted to console the despairing healer, Gloin helped the two Elves restrain Malthon. They were called Nar-rhîw and Celebglín, and were reminding Malthon of past injuries which the red haired sisters had healed even when all hope seemed gone.

Gillion held the wound open while Cûldol and Caranfinril scooped out handfuls of blood, bone, and oozing marrow. At a curt instruction, he pulled the incision wider, allowing Caranfinril better access to even more shattered femur. She tutted, and shook her head sadly as she looked deeper into the wound. "The bone is shattered. I have to remove the pieces, to see what good bone remains. This will be a long process."

"Mallaer, get another vein-vine!" Gillion ordered the strong warrior, for he could see more and more blood entering the wound, and her heart could not sustain such a loss for the length of time Caranfinril implied that she might need. "Brethildíl, hook up a bladder of blood, she's bleeding too much!" The young healer rose from her knees, turning her back on her patient as she searched the saddlebags for a bladder of elf's blood.

Cûldol called out to Malthon and Nímloth, "we need more blood! I can't slow her heart any longer, or she'll get a clot stuck in her lungs. Get bladders of blood from the warriors!"

Both Nímloth and Malthon sprang into action, though Gloin saw that both wiped tears from their eyes before collecting bladders and strange hollow vines which had thorns on the ends. As Gillion stabbed a vine into Aldanna's arm, lifting the blood-filled bladder high, Malthon set up another bladder and vine. He stabbed the thorn into Mallaer's arm, and kept the bladder low, to drain blood from the warrior, who was glad to help in any way he could, though he flinched when the thorn entered his arm.

Nímloth, meanwhile, had pressed Neldororn into donating his blood, and she shoved a similar thorned vine into her donor's elbow.

While the redheads continued to pick pieces of shattered bone and clotted blood from Aldanna's thigh, Gillion emptied two bladders of blood into the vine driven deep into her arm. Malthon handed over a blood bladder, freshly collected from Mallaer, glancing once at his daughter's pale face before returning to shove the vine into Nar-rhîw's arm with a new bladder for blood collection.

"We can't save this leg, there is no bone left," Caranfinril finally declared, pushing the muscles around to see the sharp ends of the shattered bone. "She will not regrow this bone in three thousand years. We have to take it off." Cûldol's words might have been a knife, for Malthon collapsed to the ground, sobbing. Legolas, who hovered uselessly on the edge of the camp, cried out in protest, though his voice went unheeded.

"Does anyone have a serrated blade?" Caranfinril called, loud enough for all the Dwarves, hovering around the edges of the camp, to hear. "I need something that can cut bone!"

"Aye, Narva at your service," Narva called back, rising from the stump he'd been using as a chair. He approached the blood-spattered healers, offering a nasty-looking weapon made of strong steel, with a sharp serrated edge. "My enemies call this the Bonesaw." He frowned, glancing in concern at the Elf lying unconscious on the ground, surrounded by the kneeling healers. "I can't say as to how clean it is. Shall I pass it through the fire?"

"Please," Cûldol responded immediately. Fodi stirred the campfire up, which he had relit when he'd woken, planning to cook something to eat, whether the rescued Elves lived or died. Narva held his blade in the flame for a minute, and brought it back when Caranfinril called for it.

Narva handed his favourite weapon to the Elf with a measure of trepidation. The tall Elf-maid knelt beside her patient, leaning over the open thigh, and she confidently took the weapon in hand as if she knew how to use it. With clinical precision, she brought the blade to bear on the exposed bone, cutting it off above the wound to leave a clean edge of healthy bone.

Brethildíl stopped Caranfinril from cutting the muscles by blocking her, physically from her patient. She threw herself over her friend, on her hands and knees and very much in Caranfinril's face. The senior healer all but shouted at the younger, who refused to back down. Glaring up at her superior, she asked desperately, "What if we could replace the bone?"

"Even if we had a bone to replace it with, the muscles would never reattach," Caranfinril explained coldly. Brethildil, on her hands and knees over the patient, wilted visibly. "And that is assuming we can get bone out of a fallen Elf without any damage. I'm sorry, Brethildíl, but your friend will never walk again."

"What if we made a splint? Just take out the ruined bone, we can take her to the Halls, we can get the Queen to look at her. She is the chief healer, she may know what to do. If she doesn't we could ask Lord Elrond. Now we cut the distal segment of the bone, like the proximal, to give a clean edge. We splint the leg, like an exoskeleton for her thigh, until we can find a way to heal her."

Caranfinril sighed, looking to the sky as if to ask, _why? _

_"_Open that incision back up. Someone clean Narva's Bonesaw. We don't have all day; we are running out of time with the heart slowed."


	5. Turning Point

Disclaimer: I own nothing recognisable. Do not try this at home.

Turning Point

"If she dies you can explain it to her father," Caranfinril told Brethildíl, taking her eyes off her patient's leg for a second to stare the younger healer down. Brethildíl gulped, glancing towards Malthon, who was handing Gillion a bladder of donated blood. Gillion handed Malthon an empty bladder, which had but recently been disconnected from Aldanna's vein vine.

"Alright, stabilise the distal femur, Brethildíl," she ordered, while opposite her Cûldol took over holding the incision open. "Gillion, keep that blood coming. Check pulses every minute. Nímloth, Malthon, I'm going to need more blood. I don't care if you drain those warriors dry, they are young, they will bounce back. Narva, the Bonesaw."

The dwarf handed over his prized weapon once more, as if in a trance. Gloin offered his own blood, but Malthon refused, explaining patiently to the Dwarf that there are different types of blood. "We already know that Aldanna's blood type is the same as mine, Mallaer's and Nar-rhîw's, and almost the same as Neldororn's. Celebglín's blood cannot be given to Aldanna or, indeed, most of us, for his blood has something in it which our blood perceives as foreign. Nímloth has blood much like Celebglín's, though it is slightly different, and they cannot share blood, though either could take any of our blood at need," he gestured to the warrior brothers.

"Is there a way to tell if any of my Dwarves have the right blood type?" Gloin asked, noticing that Gimli was listening in.

"Not in the Wild," Malthon answered as he sought another vein vine amongst the saddlebags.

Gloin stayed silent for a moment, while Malthon hooked a vine and bladder up to Neldororn's arm. A thought occurred to him, as he watched the healers kneeling about Aldanna, carefully removing shards of bone and a strange, mushy substance from the leg as Caranfinril cut the bone cleanly.

"Will the wound not fester? I have never seen such a large wound escape infection."

"Elves do not suffer sickness or infection, which is the only reason my daughter has not already been left for dead. If a Man or Dwarf was to suffer such an injury far from a healing house, there would be nothing to be done other than to make their passing comfortable."

Gloin settled into silence, though he itched to speak, if only to distract himself from the grating sound of the nearby healer sawing through exposed bone. She was going very slowly, prolonging the psychological strain of the sound on the ears of the warriors, especially the Dwarves.

Finally, Gloin could not stand the expression on Malthon's face. He set his attention to mindless prattle, distracting the worried Elf while the healers continued to work on butchering his daughter's leg.

It seemed an age later, but surely was only a quarter-hour, when Malthon asked Nímloth to take his vein vine out, the bladder having filled with fresh blood. Placing a light bandage around his elbow, Malthon delivered the blood to Gillion, who thanked him quietly. "It should not be long now," he said. "Caranfinril has nearly removed all of the marrow. We shall be able to close her up soon."

True to his word, the healers soon stitched up the layers of muscle and skin, leaving a reddened, painful-looking wound in their wake.

Cûldol asked the Elven warriors to collect some wood and cut it into suitable lengths to splint the leg, and Celebglín was quick to respond, jumping to his feet and rushing off towards the nearest patch of trees. Neldororn, Nar-rhîw and Mallaer were much slower to respond, and when they did get up, Mallaer fell straight back down, his face pale and breathing too quickly. Nar-rhîw knelt to help his brother, but the strain of attempting to pick his brother up caused him to fall down, hard, his own sweaty, clammy, pale face threatening a fainting spell.

"How much blood did they give?" Caranfinril asked, alarmed, as Nímloth and Gillion rushed to their sides.

"Four bladders each," Nímloth responded. "We couldn't take blood from any of you during the surgery, and of those of us who were free, only Malthon, Mallaer, Nar-rhîw and Neldororn have the right blood type.

Cûldol and Caranfinril swore profusely, already blaming themselves for taking their time with the surgery. They could have been faster if they had been less concerned with removing every last bone fragment without damaging the surrounding muscles, nerves and blood vessels. "Sit down, don't get up," Caranfinril ordered briskly. "Someone get them some food!"

Dain made his presence noticed now, ordering his Dwarves to go into the forest for wood and to heat up some soup. Gloin was pressed into babysitting when Malthon insisted on checking on his daughter, and soon the campsite was busy as the healers fussed over the warriors, filling bladders with salted water and setting them to drip though vein vines into their bloodstreams.

Gloin wondered how many times each bladder and vine had been used already, and if the Elves truly were not going to get an infection from this. If they did not all suffer liver failure within months, he would count Malthon's claim as truth.

Gillion, Brethildíl, Celebglín and Nímloth found themselves in the uncomfortable position of holding bladders high, as fluids trickled into Mallaer, Nar-rhîw, Malthon, Tathar, Neldororn and Aldanna. The two injured Elves had a different mixture in their bladders, made from crushed Elvish waybread, painkillers and salted water.

It was while Nímloth supervised a few Dwarves cutting the logs into shape with their axes that Brethildíl realised Legolas was awake.

He stared at her through wide eyes in a pale face, horrified and repulsed, as if he had just watched the healers butcher his best friend and his cousin.

Brethildíl approached Legolas, but he scooted back, coughing weakly, saying, "No, don't come anywhere near me!" She paused, and Legolas stopped trying to move, the effort having exhausted him. Tears formed in her eyes as she realised her oldest friend was afraid of her.

Malthon, grasping the opportunity of a distraction from worrying over his daughter, sat next to Legolas, who allowed his uncle to approach him.

Breathing was clearly an effortful endeavour for Legolas, and so Malthon started talking to him, gently and slowly, instructing him to breathe into his hands, which were placed on the sides of Legolas' ribcage and to take long, slow, deep breaths.

Suddenly Legolas started coughing, and the sound was painful to all who heard it, especially to Brethildíl who had not yet treated a patient with restricted lungs, for she was only young, and had begun her training barely sixty years earlier. Legolas refused to allow any of the healers who had performed the surgeries to come near him, flinching away from even his sweet sister, Nímloth when she offered a cup of water.

Malthon turned Legolas away from Tathar and Aldanna, preventing him from watching his best friends lying on the cold, hard ground, bleeding and unconscious, with their gaping wounds stitched closed. In this way he managed to clear some more sputum and dust from Legolas' airways, before choosing to give the young ellon a rest. Gillion thoughtfully provided a cup of drugged water, the sleeping powder identifiable to any experienced healer by its scent. Malthon made sure that Legolas did not see that another healer had given him the cup, which was not difficult as the younger ellon had tucked his head into his uncle's shoulder, where he shuddered with choked sobs.

Legolas accepted the cup, and a bowl of soup which the young Dwarf, Gimli handed him, with quiet words of thanks. He ate and drank quietly, while Malthon spoke to him of times long past, when Legolas, Tathar and Aldanna had been young, and Brethildíl and her brother Brethilríl had spent long hours with them, playing in the gardens, or playing tricks on the younger children. Malthon spoke of Legolas' little sister, Lothlomë, who had once climbed so high in a tree that when she refused to come down, their father the King had climbed up to carry her down, and he had fallen in an undignified heap.

Legolas cracked a smile. Encouraged, Malthon continued, reminding Legolas of the twins' tenth birthday party, when he and his friends had only just begun their training, and had dressed up to scare the little girls. Legolas chuckled weakly before falling asleep, his head pillowed on his uncle's shoulder.

On the other side of the Dwarven camp, Tathar was being fussed over by his father. Neldororn tried in vain to wake his son, for the healers knew the young warrior could not be getting enough air through the tight binder stabilising his many rib fractures.

Meanwhile, Aldanna had most of the healers' attention, for the strong, young Dwarves had finished fashioning the splints under Caranfinril's supervision.

Cûldol and Caranfinril organised the splints around Aldanna's thigh, while Brethildíl supported the weight of the leg, lifting it in the air and pulling gently, so that the tissue would not be squashed. Celebglín had been press-ganged into helping, by holding the pelvis still while Malthon (who had gained control of his fatherly worries for the moment) held the hip and leg in the correct alignment. Nar-rhîw stood over the kneeling healers, holding a bladder with its vein vine dripping painkillers, sedative, and other powders which Cûldol had taken from her healer's kit. Mallaer held lengths of thin, strong cord, which he passed to Gillion, who passed it around the raised thigh tightly.

In short order, to Gloin's amazement, the girl's leg was covered with a crude, but effective, brace. It was very tight, but it stabilised the knee joint and the thigh bone segments, and soon an attaching brace was added to stabilise the hip joint. That leg was not going anywhere.

But the Elves were. Much of the morning had vanished while they worked on their patients, and home was a long march away.


	6. Don't Die On Me Now

Disclaimer: I own nothing recognisable. Do not use these assessments and treatments as a guide. Elves are not human.

Don't Die On Me Now

The Elves built a pair of stretchers out of their own cloaks and long branches, which could be strung between horses for the journey back to their Halls. The Dwarves reclaimed their own cloaks from the initial stretchers, taking them to the creek to rinse out as much blood as they could.

Tathar was moved onto a new stretcher first, Caranfinril ensuring that the transition was smooth and relatively painless.

Without warning, Tathar's breathing became shallower, coming in with gasps of pain. Cûldol quickly and efficiently set up a vein vine with a bladder of pain-relieving medicine, which would have to be raised on a pole to transport the Elf.

The expression of pain on Tathar's face eased within moments, and the healer allowed herself a smile as her patient drifted back into a deep sleep.

Four healers worked together to move Aldanna onto the second stretcher. Legolas' sister was there for the sole purpose of monitoring her pulse, ready to place two fingers over their cousin's neck.

"No pulse!" Nímloth called, the moment Aldanna was set on the stretcher. Immediately the Elves burst into a flurry of action, as Brethildíl pumped Aldanna's chest with deep pressure, forcing blood to pump through her heart. She paused, listening for breath, and grasped the elleth's mouth, pushing her head back and placing her own mouth on top, breathing for the other Elf.

A moment later the healer returned to pressing on her patient's chest, until suddenly with a great gasp Aldanna came back to life.

Brethildíl sat back, watching the semi-comatose patient before her. "I have spent far too much effort keeping you alive in my lifetime," she shook her head at the unconscious Elf, and the older healers congratulated her on her quick save.

The Elves prepared to move out, while the few Dwarves still in the camp watched over them. Legolas was still asleep, and Tathar seemed stable enough, though Cûldol clearly still worried about his chest. Gimli had hewed a staff out of a thick branch during the time, and now he offered it to the red haired healer, who thanked him kindly. "I hear that you were the one who carried them out of the rocks," she observed, and the young Dwarf blushed, mumbling incoherently. "Thank you," she said earnestly.

Legolas woke to a loud cry. Blearily he opened his eyes, and he coughed weakly, though none of the horrible ooze plugging his lungs came free. Looking across the camp, he saw that Malthon was being forcibly restrained by both Nar-rhîw and Mallaer, while Nímloth cried hot tears. Brethildíl was shouting in Silvan the same sentence over and over again while she pressed down with her bodyweight on Aldanna's chest. "_Don't you die on me now!_"

His beloved cousin was pale and still. As he watched, she gasped, drawing in a great breath, and the healers relaxed. "I want someone watching her at all times," Caranfinril ordered the healers. "That's twice in an hour, now."

When the Dwarves had cleared the tunnel, most disappeared down it to begin the work they had come to do. Dain, Gloin, Gimli, Narva, and Rili remained to say goodbye to the Elves, for they had become very concerned about the young Elves during the long hours of the morning.

"On behalf of our King, we thank you for all your help," Celebglín said, taking on the role of leader, as the healers were all still hovering over Aldanna uncertainly. "You have done more than you know, for Legolas is the King's son, and Aldanna is his niece."

Bowing, the last dwarves to remain entered the cave, leaving the Elves alone at the mouth of the cave.

Celebglín turned around to find that the healers were once more in a flurry over Aldanna. "No pulse!" Brethildíl called, and immediately starting resuscitating her. She gasped, drawing in a shuddering breath, before relaxing back into sleep, but when Gillion checked her pulse it was weak, and getting weaker by the second. "There's a bleeder," he realised, murmuring under his breath, before looking up with scared eyes at the young Brethildíl, who still was catching her own breath after performing resuscitation. "It's still bleeding!" he yelled, getting the attention of Caranfinril, who was coming back from the creek at a run.

Caranfinril rushed to her patient's side with a sharp knife. It took a few moments for the new splint to be removed, but the healers managed it in a surprisingly short time. Opening the wound once more, they found blood filing the space where bone had once been.

"Get me a burning stick!" Caranfinril yelled, and Celebglín was quick to respond, handing the healer a small burning stick, while she plunged her other hand deep into Aldanna's leg. Gillion scooped blood out by the handful, allowing Caranfinril to reach the bleeding artery, which she cauterised the moment she exposed it to the air.

Breathing a sigh of relief, the healers packed up, stitching Aldanna's leg closed once more, replacing the bandages and splint.

They raised Aldanna's stretcher up between two horses, securing it to the saddles. A crude pole which matched the staff Gimli had made for Tathar had been donated by one of the dwarves, though none had marked which kind dwarf had left the staff in the camp. It was attached to one of the saddles, and the bladder dripping sedative, crushed lembas, water and painkillers into Aldanna's bloodstream was attached to the top.

Tathar was quickly and easily lifted between two more horses, and the staff holding up his similar bladder was attached to one saddle.

Legolas attempted to mount a horse, but the motion caused him to faint. To Celebglín's horror, he stopped breathing when he slumped into the waiting warrior's arms. Celebglín lowered the prince onto the ground, while Cûldol and Caranfinril calmly worked together, one of them pumping his chest while the other blew air into his lungs. Soon he was resuscitated, and a third stretcher built while the healers waited impatiently for the warriors to finish the crude construction. Aldanna was becoming cold, and so they piled blankets on top of her.

Only four healers rode out with the patients, for six now had no horses. The warriors ran alongside the horses as long as they were able, and Gillion and Malthon joined them, being the tallest of the healers and therefore the best able to keep up on foot. They ran far, but stopped often to check on the patients. They spent a night beside the road, before continuing on once the horses were rested.

Aldanna had to be resuscitated almost hourly. Legolas tried to ride in order to free up a horse, but the strain pushed him too far each time, requiring his heart and lungs to be restarted.

Tathar quietly worsened, his breath coming fainter with every mile.

Finally, they reached the edge of the forest, where their pace had to slow down. They came up the Elf path, and soon reached the Elvenking's Halls, crossing the bridge quickly and shouting for help.

A group of guards met them at the gate, letting them in without question. The Captain of the Guard immediately yelled for healers, and the three patients were transferred into the healing ward even before their families had heard they were home.

Queen Aldariel presided over her healing ward, but the moment she saw her son and niece enter on stretchers, she wailed, falling to her knees. She pulled herself together, though, ordered some healers to attend to Legolas and Aldanna, and went to Tathar, who was not a blood relative of hers, though he was in all but blood a son to her.

She was the one who had made the law that, if other healers were available, no healer was to treat family members, for patients need family more than they need extra healers.

Her brother joined her at Tathar's side, explaining what had happened in the field with clinical detachment. Cûldol soon joined them, and the three prepared to repair his ribs with wires.

"Do not let Neldororn or Lothelleth in!" Aldariel ordered a passing Elf, who nodded, and stayed to guard the door.

Aldariel took point on the operation, for she was relatively well-rested. She had known that her son was more or less alright, and that her niece was injured, the moment Silivren her bodyguard, best friend and sister-in-law had felt her daughter's pain in her fëa. Silivren hovered outside the room Aldanna had been taken into, listening through the wall while an elf blocked her entry into the room.

Aldariel opened Tathar's chest expertly, taking the first wire when she reached a fractured rib. She wrapped the wire around the break, repositioning it so that it might heal. Tathar was still mercifully unconscious, for there was no way Aldariel could block his pain entirely without stopping his breathing. Cûldol guided Aldariel, while Malthon concentrated with effort, until finally Aldariel ordered them out, and called Lothlomë and Gilloth and Melloth in to replace them.

The younger healers were her daughter and granddaughters, and their eyes were drawn with worry, fort hey had been hovering outside Legolas' sickroom. "Legolas is fine," Aldariel said briskly. "Now help me. None of you have reset a flail chest before, so watch and learn. Gilloth, I want a bladder of sedative ready for if he starts to wake up. Melloth, keep the incision open. Lothlomë, hand me the wires when I ask."

In this way, Aldariel kept the healers in her family focussed on Tathar, while her brother stood outside his daughter's room, watching and waiting to see if she would live.

"What's this?" Aldariel had reached the last fractured rib, but noticed something hard and smooth under the skin of her patient's abdomen. "Someone get Cûldol in here!" she shouted.

The senior healer was soon brought into the room by the elf who had been guarding the door. She explained about the head injury and how they had needed to remove a piece of Tathar's skull to prevent his brain from being squished into jelly. She placed a tray with a small chisel, hammer, extra sinew for stitches and a knife with a tiny blade on the side table.

"I was planning to reattach the flap about now," she added, sagging against the wall with exhaustion.

"Go, sleep. I will replace the skull piece," Aldariel ordered the redhead who had once been her teacher.

"Gilloth, do you see a section of hair missing?"

"Yes, Daernana," the young healer answered.

"Do not press on it. I want you to cut the skin around it. Melloth, I want you to run cold water over it to clear the blood away."

"On our own?"

"I'm taking the piece of skull out of his abdomen, where Cûldol placed it to keep the tissue alive. Lothlomë, you'll be stitching his abdomen back up."

"Yes, Nana."

Quickly and efficiently, Aldariel cut into the abdomen above the solid mass. She removed the bloody piece of skull, carefully inspecting it, to find that the edges were clean, if very rough, and the bone seemed healthy. "Lothlomë," she said, and her daughter started stitching the abdomen back together, layer by layer.

Aldariel took the chisel and mallet, carefully placing the curved skull flap on a table. On the concave side, the inside, she used the tools to tap a series of small holes, through which she could loop small lengths of wire. The job was soon done and she turned her attention to her silent granddaughters, who stared at the hole they had just opened in their friend's head.

Gilloth had cut a neat incision around the patch of shaved hair, very nearly matching the original incision. Aldariel took her granddaughter's place above Tathar's head, finding the right orientation for the skull flap to be placed. She tried not to look at the brain, which was hidden behind only a layer of creamy tissue, like a bubble over the delicate organ. Finding the right orientation for the bone, she carefully slotted it into place, where it fell with a soft click.

To Aldariel's great relief, the original incision had been made at an angle, so that the skull flap now fitted into the hole like a cone, with the edges of the cut bone sloped neatly. The piece would not fall through into the brain, making Aldariel's job of stabilising the section much easier than she had feared it would be.

"Chisel and mallet," she ordered, and her daughter presented the items to her, before stepping back, her suturing completed.

Aldariel gently tapped small holes on the rim of the skull, opposite the holes in the flap. "Wire," she requested, and Lothlomë handed a tiny length over to her.

Aldariel bent the wire with pliers into a double sided hook, and carefully inserted it into the skull. The piece held the bones together gently, and with a determined grimace she moved on to the next pair of holes.

While Aldariel attached the skull fragment back to Tathar's skull, she managed to keep her mind off her son and niece. The moment Tathar's wound was stitched closed, though, she had no more distractions.

She did not like being the worried family member hovering outside a sick room.

But her pride did not stop her from hovering, once her own patient was stable and sleeping peacefully.

.

Thranduil slipped through the halls, finding the room where his son rested with little difficulty. Legolas dozed in bed, propped up on many pillows so that he was sitting almost upright. He turned his head to one side, closed eyes clenching as if caught in the grips of a nightmare. The Elvenking silently closed the door, settling into the single chair beside his son's bed, all the while gazing at Legolas' pale face and fitful slumber.

After what seemed hours, but was really only minutes, Legolas woke, breath coming in short gasps and eyes wide. He raised his arms, feeling blindly around him, apparently not believing his eyes, for her seemed surprised to feel soft sheets and pillows surrounding him.

Thranduil leaned forward, touching his son's wandering hand gently. "Legolas," he murmured, gaining the young Prince's attention. Wide blue eyes stared back at him, and Thranduil's heart broke as he saw the raw fear and pain his son suffered. "Oh, my son," he cried, wrapping Legolas up in a tight hug. "You're safe now. You're home."

Legolas did not respond, except to hug his father back, burying his face in his father's neck and shoulder. Soon, though, his short gasps for breath failed him, and he fell back to sleep, relaxing in his father's grasp. Thranduil manoeuvred him back onto his pillows, and placed alight kiss on Legolas' cheek as he had done long ago when Legolas was a child, before leaving the room to find a healer who might do something about that concerning breathing pattern.

.

Legolas sat up in bed, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep. The healers had refused to allow him to lie down once they had arrived in the Halls, and Legolas found that though his breathing became less effortful, sleeping had become impossible, except for short naps whenever his lungs failed to work well enough to keep him awake. The healers had refused to discharge Legolas until they were satisfied that his lungs were clear, and he had started sleeping with his eyes open, as per usual. To Legolas' displeasure, not only was he unable to sleep comfortably, but he seemed to be sleeping with closed eyes whenever he caught a nap.

The door to his room opened, and his mother slipped inside. Her face was creased into lines of worry, but upon seeing Legolas awake and aware she brightened into a soft smile, her face relaxing into its usual flawless perfection. "Legolas," she breathed, coming to sit in a chair beside his bed. "You're awake," she observed, running a soft hand over his cheek as she inspected his face, frowning as she saw something she didn't want to see.

He looked at her silently, hardly believing that he was safe and home. She leant back, brow knit as she watched his breathing pattern, clearly coming to some conclusion she didn't like.

"Take a deep breath for me, nice and slow. No, slower," she scolded him, when he rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. On his next attempt he seemed to get the breath she wanted, though it seemed unnecessarily slow and drawn-out to Legolas. "Two more, ion-nin," Aldariel ordered, and so Legolas obeyed his mother. On the third breath, though, he suddenly found that something was clogging his lungs, and he couldn't breathe. Coughing and hacking, he leant to the side, and Aldariel produced a bowl which she caught a long stream of black-brown sputum.

Legolas looked up to his mother with pained eyes, spitting and coughing as he tried to clear his throat of the horrible, sticky mess which had come from his lungs.

"I'm sorry, honey," she soothed, placing the bowl on a side table and turning back to sit on the edge of his bed, holding him in her arms like she had when he was a child. "I know it's horrible," she crooned, stroking his hair and letting him rest his head on her shoulder. "You breathed in a lot of dust. You have to clear the secretions and the dust before you will heal."

Legolas sobbed quietly into his mother's shoulder, wrapping his arms tightly around her. "They cut Tathar's head open," he finally said, speaking for the first time since they'd brought him home.

"I know," Aldariel answered patiently. "His brain was swelling, he would have died without intervention. They saved his life."

Legolas nodded, taking laboured breaths as he tied to calm down. "They said they have to cut off Aldanna's leg."

Aldariel gasped, for she had not yet looked in on her niece, and did not truly know in what condition she would find her. "The healers will do everything they can for her," she answered evasively. Her son nodded stiffly, though he took no comfort from her words.

"I want to see her," he declared, "and Tathar."

Aldariel found herself nodding through silent tears. "Of course, my son," she forced through tight lips. "As soon as you are able, you can see them."


	7. What Must Be Done

Disclaimer: I own nothing recognisable

What Must Be Done

Aldanna woke the next morning, feeling like death warmed over. Her mother was asleep, her head resting on the foot of Aldanna's bed, and in the corner a padded mat cushioned her father, who slept deeply, with his eyes closed.

She tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea hit her hard, causing her to fall backward onto the pillows. Dizziness threatened to take her consciousness, but Aldanna lay very still for a minute, patiently waiting for her systems to settle.

She felt wonderful, though, at the same time as she felt half-dead. It was a strange kind of high, like runner's high, but without the exertion. A vine was driven deep into her elbow, attached to a bladder hanging on a post by her bed.

She realised that she could not feel anything – no pain, no discomfort, and no sensation of the sheet resting over her legs and feet. Panic struck her, as she realised she might have broken her back after all.

_No!_ her whirling thoughts protested in her head. _I am a warrior! I can't protect my home if I am crippled!_

Her left hip was obscured by a hard wooden device, perhaps a splint. She probed at the lip of it gently, noticing that her skin underneath the rough wood was red and angry, irritated by the surface.

Trying to see further, she found that she could not sit up, for the shape of the wood blocked all movement at her hip. "What is this?" she wondered aloud. "Where are my legs?"

A gasp caught her attention, and she realised that her dear mother had woken, and was gazing at her through relieved eyes. Her blonde hair was escaping from braids which had not been neatened in days, and lines of worry crossed her face, mixed with intense relief.

"Aldanna, my dear, you're awake!" Silivren cried, waking Malthon with the noise. "Oh my baby you're alive!" Silivren rose, wrapping Aldanna in a tight hug as she lay still, awkwardly patting her mother on the back.

"Nana, why can't I sit up? I want to check my legs are still there," she joked weakly, failing to get a smile out of her mother.

"Aldanna," Silivren hesitated, looking to Malthon for support. Aldanna's father rubbed his eyes, unused to sleeping with them closed, and rose to stand by Silivren's side.

Her parents' grave faces caused Aldanna's heart to drop into the pit of her stomach. She knew that look. It didn't mean bad news – it meant the worst news one could possibly imagine.

"They took my legs. You took my legs. _You took my legs!"_ she screamed, hitting the mattress as hard as she could with the flats of her palms, trying to push herself up to sitting. "You should have let me die!" she yelled through hysterical tears, while Silivren cried into her hands.

Malthon tried in vain to calm his daughter, but the noise soon drew the attention of the healers in the ward. Gillion entered, with Brethildíl and Caranfinril hot on his heels.

"Aldanna!" Brethildíl yelled at her dear friend. "You still have your legs!"

She quieted, breathing hard as she looked into her trusted friend's eyes. "You promise?" she asked, in a voice much like the ten-year-old she had once been, before her first real adventure.

"I promise," Brethildíl answered, placing a hand gently on Aldanna's shin. "Do you feel my hand?" she asked, as Aldanna tried to see.

"No," she answered, causing Caranfinril to push her way to the bedside, lifting the sheet from the bottom and bunching it about Aldanna's hips. This obscured Aldanna's view further, so she did not know what the healer might have done, but she seemed disturbed by Aldanna's lack of response.

"Can you wiggle your toes?" Caranfinril asked, and Aldanna obeyed her. Frowning, she tried again, unsure if she had actually moved, for she felt nothing.

"Are they moving?" she asked, looking to the healers, and her concerned parents who now hovered at the edge of the room, but no-one answered. They exchanged glances, and would not meet her questioning eyes.

Caranfinril drew up the chair Silivren had occupied earlier, sitting in the place where Aldanna could comfortably see her without straining. She drew a breath, hesitating, before coming to some decision. "Aldanna, your injuries are severe. You suffered a broken ankle, and we suspect that a nerve in your other foot was torn when the ankle was sprained."

"Well stitch it back together," Aldanna stated as a matter-of-fact.

"It is a stretch type injury. The nerve has to heal on its own. I am not concerned about that," the redheaded healer dismissed the injury with a wave of her hand. She had more pressing concerns. Caranfinril looked into Aldanna's eyes as she spoke, trapping her in the fiery gaze. "You cannot feel anything because you are on the strongest painkillers we possess, but also your spine was damaged in the fall."

"My spine?" Aldanna asked, looking to her grave parents, who offered no contradiction.

Caranfinril continued reluctantly, as if she did not wish to be the bearer of bad news. "We had to open your spine to take out the swelling and the damaged tissue. There is still some damage to the spinal cord, but in time we hope for that to resolve."

"Then why do you look like you are pronouncing my death sentence? That's wonderful!" she looked around the grave faces, noting that even Gillion, a healer she barely knew, was eyeing her with deep sympathy. "Resolve means get better, right? I will be fine, I will heal?" Desperately seeking validation, Aldanna waited while the healers hesitated. Silivren eventually nodded.

"Yes, my baby. Your spine will heal. It's just," she faltered, and the usually strong elleth turned to sob into Malthon's chest, as he encircled her in his protective arms.

"Your leg will not heal, even if we could give you all the time in the world." Gillion was blunt and to the point, his words nearly stopping Aldanna's heart.

"I don't understand," she said, hoping that this was all some sick joke. Elves always heal, or so she believed. Some sought the West, sailing to the Undying Lands where healing could be found away from the troubles of Middle-Earth, but time and patience had always allowed the Silvan Elves as much hope as any in Valinor.

"Your thigh was crushed," Caranfinril explained. "We took out the shards of bone, but the bone will not grow back without taking weight, and there is no intact bone to take weight. We have not yet removed the leg, for we had hoped to spare you too much trauma at one time. I'm sorry," she said, but Aldanna had already stopped listening at the word _removed_.

She pushed herself up on her elbows, fuming, and drew in a deep breath. "No!" she shouted, her voice thinner and weaker than she'd intended. "You can't take my leg!"

"If we don't, you'll be stuck lying in a bed forever. When we remove it you will be able to move, and walk with crutches. You could take up a trade," Caranfinril argued.

"No," Aldanna murmured, fighting desperately, her lungs failing her. "No. I will not allow it. Find a way to keep my leg, or let me die." As the words left her in a breathy whisper, Aldanna's world faded into blackness.

.

"Not breathing!" Brethildíl cried, leaping forward to start manually resuscitating her yet again.

Finally Aldanna breathed on her own, though it was too shallow for the healers' liking. Brethildíl excused herself, leaving Aldanna with the more senior healer, her desperate plea ringing in her ears. _You can't take my leg! Find a way to keep my leg, or let me die. _

_I cannot just let her fade_, Brethildíl told herself. _I have spent far too much of my life keeping her alive. There must be something we can do._

She opened the door to Legolas' room, but found him sitting up, though fast asleep, catching a rare few minutes of sleep. Leaving him be, she turned back, closing the door softly. Legolas was in no state to be discussing such a topic with her, and she chided herself for even thinking of such a thing while he was still struggling to heal himself.

As she wandered through the halls, she wondered what could be done. Nothing sprang to mind, from her initial training under Lord Elrond or her continuing training under Caranfinril, Cûldol and Aldariel.

She aimlessly walked the halls, treading deeper into the mountain, before her path took her to the protected valley in which the majority of the Elves' outdoor facilities were nestled. As she mused, her feet took her to the bakery, where the wonderful smells of Lady Taurwen's fresh buns, rolls and pastries took her mind from brooding.

Checking her pocket, the healer found some coins, so she veered from her unplanned path to visit the bakery. Taurwen greeted her with a smile, though it lacked the warmth it had held forty years earlier, before her daughter had died in the Battle of Five Armies. "You look troubled," the perceptive baker observed as Brethildíl sat at the small bar.

"Sometimes I wish that I had remained simply a warrior," Brethildíl sighed. "We say that healers save lives. But are we really saving a life, if in doing so, we take away the patient's livelihood?"

"I suppose it depends on the case," Taurwen commented. "If someone could have saved my Tauriel, I would not care if she could no longer serve in the guard. Now, you look thin. Have you been eating?"

Brethildíl cracked a smile. Taurwen no longer had a child to fuss over, so she had taken to fussing over anyone and everyone who stepped into her store. It was a refreshing change for the young healer, who spent her time caring for others. "Do you have any of those wonderful spiced buns?" she asked, and Taurwen nodded.

Ducking behind the bar to open the cabinet in which she kept her goods warm, Taurwen kept chattering. "So what are you all torn up about, Miss Brethildíl?" she asked as she reappeared with four of the healer's favourite buns on a plate which she placed on the bar.

"Aldanna," Brethildíl answered, handing over some coins, most of which the baker handed back, insisting that she only pay for one. "If we don't amputate, she will never leave the sickbed. If we do amputate, she will fade from grief, or perhaps kill herself. She has woken but once, and then for a short time, and she insisted that she would rather die than lose her leg. She will never walk again."

Taurwen pulled a stool up to her side of the bar, offering the healer a cup of tea which was gratefully accepted. She sat down opposite the younger elleth, swapping a cup of tea for a bun. "Tell me," she insisted, and so Brethildíl did, though she omitted the foot and ankle injuries, and the spinal compression, for they would heal in time, and would only confuse the baker.

At length the buns had been turned to crumbs and two cups of tea each had been drained. Taurwen packed up the plate and cups, considering all that she had heard.

"I'm sure I don't understand everything," the baker said, turning back to offer her own brand of wisdom to the young healer. "But it sounds like the only real problem is that bone. Find a way to fix that up, and all your problems will solve themselves."

Much later, while Brethildíl visited Eregalen the woodworker, she had an idea. Inspiration came from a broken chair, innocuously sitting in the corner of the workshop as it waited for a leg to be repaired. Beside it stood a shelf filled with unstrung bows, beautifully curved and with intricate detailing in their design. One had been broken, and fixed with molten gold, which created a beautiful relic, with fine threads of gold filling the cracks in the wood. It would not be used in battle, for the gold would not hold the strength of the original wood, but another had been similarly repaired with steel, which created a beautifully unique weapon. Only ten years ago none would have considered repairing a broken bow with steel or gold, and indeed so far the few bows Eregalen had treated had been only kept on display, never actually used. As he explained the repaired bows to Brethildíl, he insisted that the steel weapons could be used quite effectively against any foe, and were quite safe to draw, depending on the strength of the intact wood.

A phrase came to mind from long ago, when she had started her training as a healer.

_If there is no way, make one, even if this means challenging the realm of what is possible. _They were wise words she had learned from Lord Elrond during her apprenticeship in Imladris, shortly after she had come of age. An idea formed in her shrewd mind.

"That's it!" she shouted, startling the woodworker, who glowered at the deep scratch he had accidentally gouged in a carving of a bird at the unexpected noise. Brethildíl couldn't care less about the design on someone's cabinet doors, though, for she knew what she had to do.

"_If there is no way, make one, even if this means challenging the realm of what is possible_. If it's broken, fix it! All it needs is a spare part! Eregalen, don't you see! A replacement shaft! I need to get a replacement bone!"

The woodworker stared at the healer, shaking his head. "You made much more sense as a young warrior about to take your Trials, before you went off to Imladris ," he muttered. "I always said that Lord Elrond was a little bit crazy."


	8. Stop Dying On Me!

Disclaimer: I own nothing recognisable. I am not a medical practitioner of any kind, and the descriptions of medical management are not meant to be used as a guide.

Stop Dying On Me!

Brethildíl rushed to the healing wing, where she did not stop to check on her patient, but she did run into Caranfinril. "Don't amputate!" she yelled, rushing to an old cupboard of preserved bones. "I know what we can do!"

She found what she was looking for, a left femur, and rushed past a stunned Caranfinril to Aldanna's room, calling for the senior healer to follow her.

"How much bone is missing?" Brethildíl demanded, holding the femur against Aldanna's left leg. The splint made comparison difficult, so she lined it up against the right side, finding to her satisfaction that it was a similar size to Aldanna's natural bone.

Caranfinril told her, still bewildered, as Brethildíl marked the preserved bone with the locations of the cut in the femur. "I am going to make a new bone shaft," Brethildíl explained breathlessly.

The senior healer stared at her for a moment, her jaw dropping, and a wonder in her eyes. She had most certainly not taught the young healer to do that!

"Then you are going to put it in," Caranfinril answered, staring at her student, impressed. She did not truly think it might work, but at least they could say they had tried everything when they did, ultimately, take Aldanna's leg.

Brethildíl grinned, showing her age, and ran out of the healing ward, preserved bone in hand. "I will not fail you, Aldanna!" she called, though Aldanna was deeply unconscious and could not hear the promise.

"Rílmir!" she called, approaching the forge where the best sword smith could often be found. A soot-covered face peered out of the stone door, white eyes gleaming in the afternoon sunlight.

"Little Brethildíl?" he asked, slightly confused at the healer's presence. "Is Rílglín injured?"

"No, no, your son is fine," she answered, leaning forward to breathe deeply, for she had run faster than she ought to in her excitement. "I need you to make history with me."

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked, inviting her into his dimly glowing forge, built into the rock of the mountain.

"I want you to make this," she answered, offering the preserved bone to the smith.

"My dear, I work with steel and mithril and iron. I cannot make bone."

"I need you to make a copy of this, from the first mark to the second," Brethildíl explained. "It is for Aldanna, she needs a replacement for the part of her bone that was crushed. Can you do this?"

Rílmir took the bone, examining its curves and facets carefully. He frowned, considering. "When do you need it?" he asked, meeting the healer's determined eyes.

"As soon as you are able," she answered.

"I will need good mithril," he declared, "and good steel. Only the best will do, and most mithril is in helms and the best steel in swords. Find those I can melt and I will make your bone."

"I will," Brethildíl promised.

She immediately set to finding mithril and steel. She had audiences with a number of powerful, old Elves who considered handing over their unused weapons, though few were willing to part with mithril. Eventually Brethildíl obtained a single mithril helm from Malthon, for he deemed his father's helm from long ago would be put to better use saving his daughter than decorating their home as an heirloom.

Steel swords, though, were easy for Brethildíl to obtain. A number of Elves handed over weapons of their long-dead families, including a blade which had been used in the Last Alliance before its owner had been felled in the mid-Third Age.

Brethildíl returned to Rílmír's forge late in the evening, surprised to find him hard at work in the lit forge. He had created a plaster mould of the femur Brethildíl had supplied, which had dried quickly in the hot, dry air of the forge. The mould had a hole drilled in it, which had then been filled with wax, which set in the cool night air. When he noticed that she had arrived, he grinned at her, took the plaster and wax model, and set about removing the plaster.

He offered the wax for the healer's inspection, warning her that if she wanted any changes to be made, this was the time to do it, for the mould made from the wax would be the final shape of the replacement bone shaft.

"May I?" she asked, reaching for the wax, He handed it over, and she inspected the ends. Rílmír had cut them straight, much like Brethildíl knew the bones were cut. However, the smooth surface she expected from the steel-mithril alloy would not attach well to bone at straight edges.

She picked up a sharp tool, like a quill but with a hooked end. Scratching at the surface of the edge, she scuffed the neat edge until it seemed satisfyingly rough, a surface to which flesh could perhaps cling.

A thought struck her, and she took a piece of wax from the bench, softening in by holding it near the forge. When it was pliable, she moved back to the relatively cool spot near the door, forming a wide spike which she attached to the end of the bone implant.

Smiling with self-satisfaction, Brethildíl repeated the wax spike on the other end of the implant, before scuffing the surfaces with the strange tool she'd used earlier. "Perfect," she declared, holding up the new form.

"If you say so," the smith commented, eyeing the not so beautiful wax creation with distaste. "I suppose no-one will see it, so its appearance matters little."

"It is perfect. The edges need to be rough so that the bone will fix to them," she explained, though she doubted that the smith truly understood.

"Alright, I'll get the clay mould started."

.

It took far less time than Brethildíl expected for the replacement bone shaft to be finished. She answered a summons to the forge, where Rílmír showed her the finished product.

To her eyes, it was beautiful. The shaft itself was a flawlessly surfaced imitation of a bone, with the grooves and detail of a natural bone. The ends, though, were rough, and the spikes were like thorns, tapered and slightly curved, but their surfaces were covered in the rough texture she desired.

She paid the smith in pure gold, taking a large chunk out of her annual salary, but it would be worth it if her plan worked.

In what seemed no time at all, Brethildíl had Aldanna's leg open once more, the ends of the femur gleaming brightly in the sunlight which streamed in through the window. Caranfinril and Cûldol were present, as were Gillion and two other healers, ready to amputate if Brethildíl's plan fell through.

She took a torturous device from the tray of instruments, boring a shallow hole into the remaining distal femur. The soft marrow spilled out easily, and she quickly moved on to the proximal shaft, making a second hole in the marrow. Taking the new replacement shaft, she took a calming breath while the other healers watched, waiting with baited breath.

Aldanna lay still and unresponsive on the bed, her breath the only sound in the room.

Gathering her resolve, Brethildíl plunged forward, plugging the steel-mithril implant into the proximal shaft of the femur, fitting it tightly into the bone. Tiny gaps remained, but the bone would grow to embrace the implant, if the Valar were kind. Adjusting her stance, Brethildíl prepared to attach the distal shaft, pushing muscle out of the way in order to grip the bone securely. With an almighty effort she wrenched the pieces into place, withdrawing her bloody hands with a relieved smile.

Caranfinril met her eyes with a proud smile. "Congratulations," she said. "You might be able to pull this off after all."

As Brethildríl stitched the layers of muscle and skin back together, Aldanna stopped breathing yet again. Cûldol resuscitated her twice before Brethildíl finished stitching.

After most of the healers left, Brethildíl remained, and had to restart Aldanna's heart at least once each hour. She refused to leave her patient even when Silivren and Malthon were allowed to stay by her side.

"Aldanna!" She finally yelled at her dear friend. "Stop dying on me! I've just done the most groundbreaking surgery this world has yet seen and it will all mean _nothing_ if you don't stay with me!" As she pumped Aldanna's chest yet again, the injured warrior suddenly breathed on her own, and Brethildíl relaxed. Silivren's tears still rolled down her cheeks as she sat beside her daughter, begging her to hang on to this life.


	9. Death is Hardest on the Living

Disclaimer: I own nothing recognisable

Death Is Hardest On The Living

Tathar woke up the next morning as the sun broke over the distant horizon. To his surprise, he appeared to be in the healing wing of the Elvenking's Halls, and he frowned as he wondered why he might be in such a place.

A vine was driven deep into his arm, attached to a bladder held high on a pole. He wondered if the wonderful feeling of blissful detachment came from the contents of that drip.

His dear mother was fast asleep in a chair, draped over the foot of his bed. A short distance behind her, his father sat against the wall, apparently having fallen asleep while leaning on the wall.

As Tathar glanced about the room, he saw yet another sleeping figure, this one lying on a bedroll. His curly hair identified him as Tathar's uncle, his mother's brother Lothellon.

The last thing Tathar remembered was entering a cave, which had newly formed just outside the forest. His cousins had not wanted to go, but Aldanna and Legolas had been eager to explore, and to prove that they were not afraid of the dark tunnels.

_That did not turn out so well,_ Tathar thought, before realising that he wasn't really sure why he would have such a thought. Racking his brain, he realised that he remembered travelling to the cave with the cousins, bemoaning the absence of his own cousins, but refusing to let Legolas out of his sight. What kind of a bodyguard lets his charge go off on adventures alone?

They had entered the cave and all had been well, until suddenly there was a great noise as of the rumbling of a giant from the bowels of the earth. Tathar's lamp had been knocked from his hand by a rock which had fallen from the once stable ceiling, and a moment later darkness had engulfed them with much more force than darkness should ever possess.

'You're awake!" a lightly accented voice said, and Tathar's attention returned to his surroundings. His mother, Lothelleth, had woken, and was standing by his side, concern in her deep eyes. She placed a gentle hand on his cheek, softly running her fingers across his skin, as if she were afraid to break him. "I was so afraid, ion-nin," she murmured, bending to place a soft kiss on his forehead.

Her curly hair caught in his mouth and eyes, but he brushed it away with practiced ease. "Nana," he greeted her, smiling widely. "You speak as if you did not expect me to wake up."

Tears filled her soft grey eyes. "Oh Tathar, do you not remember what has happened?"

Tathar shrugged. "I remember the darkness closing in on us. For some reason the darkness seemed to push me over before it engulfed me. I should not have gone in that cave, I have been afraid of dark, enclosed spaces since that silly barrel ride when I was a child. I should have known that I would not cope if the light were to go out."

The tears in his mother's eyes now spilled down her cheeks, but in contrast Lothelleth smiled brightly. "Tathar, I would protect you from the dark if it would do you any good. You must face your fears, and you were right to attempt the cave. You did not faint from fear, my son. You were caught in a rockfall."

"A rockfall?" Tathar asked, eyes wide. He stared at his mother, hoping that she would burst into merry laughter, having caught him with a joke, and he really had simply fainted from terror in the dark. But the false smile wobbled, and tears continued to spill from her sad eyes.

"It was a cave-in," a deep, strong voice interrupted, and Tathar turned to see his uncle now awake, now standing by the foot of his bed. Lothellon's curls were oddly shaped as a result of his sleeping in messy braids, and Tathar would have laughed at his uncle's hair in any other situation.

"A cave-in?" he almost squawked as he repeated his uncle in disbelief.

"Legolas says that you were buried by the fall. You are on strong pain killers, but Cûldol warns you not to move, if you can help it."

A healer arrived, and Tathar greeted her with a teasing remark. Lothlomë was Legolas' little sister, and Tathar had spent much time in their youth teasing the young elleth. She was still considered a beginning healer, having not begun her training until after becoming accredited as a warrior, much as Tathar's cousin Brethildíl had done twelve years sooner.

"Tathar, it is good to see you awake," she greeted him, ignoring the childish remark. She was in full healer mode, and her no-nonsense attitude soon wiped the smile off Tathar's face. He did not notice that his father had awakened, for Neldororn remained quiet while the young Princess explained to Tathar what had befallen him.

"We've already got you on strong pain medications, but this might hurt," Lothlomë warned him, when she came up to his side to physically examine him. "I need to get you to cough, to get the dust and dirt and mucous which is clogging your lungs to come out."

Tathar winced at the prospect of pain, though the initial examination had not caused him much discomfort. She pressed an ear to his chest in several places, and when she listened to his back he had to lean forward, which left him breathless and in incredible pain, even though she had him hugging a pillow.

While his family watched, she guided him through a series of breathing exercises, resulting in Tathar hacking up a large amount of grey-brown mucous, and suddenly his breathing came easier, causing him to realise that breathing had been an effort until this point. His ribs hurt, in two lines of searing pain which ran down his chest, on either side of his sternum, but he pushed through the pain, for Lothlomë explained that he must clear his chest if he wanted to ever heal.

Lothlomë visited again each hour, and around midday she announced that Tathar's progress was good, and he seemed to have coughed up the gunk caught in his lungs. By this time Neldororn had filled him in on his friends' situations, and Legolas was allowed to visit him for a short time, after his parents were satisfied that he was going to keep breathing if they left the room.

There was knock on the door, and Tathar called out, "Come in," or rather, he tried to. The sound which came out was more akin to a whisper. Nonetheless, the door opened, and Legolas poked his head inside, a wide smile brightening his face when he saw Tathar awake.

"Tathar!" Legolas crowed joyfully, skipping across to his bodyguard's bedside. After only a few steps, though, he had to lean on the wall, breathing deeply and slowly. Tathar leant forward to try to get up to help his best friend, but his own chest pain forced him to relax back into the high pile of pillows which kept him half-sitting.

Legolas recovered somewhat, walking much more sedately to Tathar's side. "I was so worried about you, Tathar," he said, sitting in the hard chair by Tathar's bed. "I did not imagine I would ever see you awake again."

Tathar cracked a weak smile. "As long as I don't move, I'm fine. My chest feels like an orc has sliced me open, twice."

Legolas' eyes were wide, though, and he did not laugh at Tathar's attempt at a joke. "How is your head?" he asked, glancing up to Tathar's bandaged skull.

Tathar shrugged. "I do not feel any pain there. This vein vine is dripping powerful drugs into me, though, so most pain is blocked."

Legolas nodded, grasping Tathar's warm hand in his own as if to reassure himself that Tathar was alive. "You nearly died, Tathar. I don't know what I'd do without you, you've always been here for me." He looked up into Tathar's eyes, and Tathar wondered how much medication Legolas was on, and if it was affecting his friend as much as his own medication was affecting him. "Please don't die, Tathar. I can't lose both you and Aldanna."

Tathar startled at these words, pushing himself up into sitting and ignoring the pain from his chest, for the pain in his heart was infinitely worse. "Aldanna's dead?" he screeched, though his weakened lungs only let out a hoarse whisper. He stared at Legolas through wide eyes, desperately hoping that he had heard wrong.

Legolas shook his head, but looked down, not meeting Tathar's eyes. "She's not dead, but she might as well be," he murmured. "The healers might have to amputate her leg, far above the knee. Brethildíl has been impossible to talk to, she spends all her time shut up in Aldanna's room and leaves only to sleep. The other healers will not tell me anything, other than that they might have to take her leg."

"She will fade," Tathar realised, his hollow voice surprising him.

Legolas nodded grimly. "She will fade."

A healer opened the door then, ushering Legolas out before insisting that Tathar perform more breathing exercises. He returned every half hour, and Tathar did not see Legolas again that day.

That afternoon Tathar was temporarily released, though he had to return for observation in the evening and would sleep in the healing wing that night, and would have to drag the pole with medications dripping into his bloodstream wherever he went. He managed to talk his way into visiting Aldanna, though the healers did not fully explain her situation to him in their hurry to get to some other patient.

Tathar walked unsteadily from his room, leaning heavily on his father, who had lent him an arm. Neldororn expertly guided them the short distance to Aldanna's healing room, where he greeted Malthon with a silent nod. Aldanna's father allowed Tathar to take his place in the chair by her bed, before leaving the friends in solitude as he joined his long time comrade and friend outside.

"Oh, Aldanna," Tathar murmured, upon seeing his dear friend's pale face. In this state she looked far from her usual self, with her bright green eyes lidded and her boisterous smile replaced with a gentle pout. Rosy cheeks bloomed against her pale face, and Tathar wondered if that was to be expected, or if perhaps it was some side effect of her obvious effort to breathe.

Her left leg was completely obscured by a thick plaster cast which extended from her waist to her ankle. The other ankle was swollen, and bruises speckled her whole body. Tathar was sure that was similarly afflicted by brown bruises, and he idly wondered how bad he looked, with the bandage around his head and more around his chest.

Suddenly Tathar saw no minute movement of her chest. He reached up to check her throat, and found no carotid pulse.

"No!" he cried, standing up to lean over her. He knew what to do when someone stopped breathing, he had seen it countless times, and long ago practiced on wooden dummies. Placing his hands over her sternum, he pressed down hard, counting out loud each pulse. "Thirty!" He paused, and leant down to check her breath. No movement of her chest. He pinched her nose, grasped her chin in a pistol grip, and tilted her head back, before taking a deep breath to administer as a rescue breath. A second breath followed, and he turned his head to watch the rise and fall of her chest, and hear the hiss of escaping air. Her chest did not rise again.

As he continued to attempt to resuscitate her, images ran through Tathar's mind, of his childhood, his adolescence, his adulthood. In every scene, Aldanna was there, either the instigator of a situation or a merry participant. Legolas was his best friend, but Aldanna was a close second, for she had grown up with her cousin as if they were twins sharing four parents. Tathar had been born about a year after Legolas and Aldanna, and when they were toddlers he had followed them around like a lost puppy, copying everything they did. His own cousin Brethildíl was mere months younger than himself, and the moment she had learnt to walk she had joined the Terrible Trio.

Aldanna and Tathar had been regular competitors throughout their adolescence. She had been the wildest of the group, while Tathar had always possessed more common sense. She had been a major driving force behind Tathar's attention to his training as a warrior, as she teased him each time she succeeded in a skill he had not yet mastered. She had been side by side with him, and Legolas, during every moment they had spent as warriors, patrolling in the south of Mirkwood.

Tathar had been in his fair share of trouble as a youth, but Aldanna was always there with him to share the blame, whether one or both of them were actually guilty.

Legolas was fine, he had survived the cave-in with little more than dust in his lungs. Tathar would be fine as soon as his bones knit together.

Aldanna had to be fine, too. They couldn't be the Terrible Trio without one of their own.

She had survived all their misadventures while growing up. She had to survive this.

Tathar's pain medication was good, but it was not so good as to mask severe, acute pain. His chest burned and stung, and as he pumped his dear friend's chest, he felt as if he were ripping his own chest apart from the exertion.

But he found that he didn't care.

Nothing mattered if Aldanna died.

There were only a few people who meant more to Tathar than he himself. Legolas, Aldanna, Brethilríl and Brethildíl all made that list, as did his own parents and the King and Queen, whom he loved like second parents. One of those people was dying in front of him now, and he'd be damned if he didn't do all he could to prevent that!

Even if it cost his own life, he had tried.

.

Aldariel rushed into the treatment room, Brethildíl at her heels. Tathar stood over Aldanna, blood pouring down his shirt, pumping her chest, counting in a dull, lifeless tone as he compressed his friend's heart.

She rushed to her patient, ignoring the tearing in her heart which begged her to cry over her niece. His ribs were flailing as he breathed, the wires no longer holding his ribs together.

While Brethildíl continued to resuscitate Aldanna, steadfastly ignoring her own cousin's plight, Aldariel called for help. Gilloth appeared at the door a moment later, having already been on her way there, after hearing Tathar's loud shout of denial. Aldariel and her granddaughter efficiently lifted Tathar into his own room, immediately opening his bandage to expose the wounds.

Aldariel had been right. Many of the wires had bent free under the effort, and most of these had broken the skin. Nímloth arrived just as she started to open the wounds, and she sat opposite Aldariel, working on the opposite side of Tathar's chest. Melloth soon arrived, and each twin assisted their elders by fetching and supplying equipment, and then suturing the fresh wounds as the senior healers moved on to other ribs.

.

Gillion had soon arrived to assist Brethildíl, who had managed to restart Aldanna's heart. The experienced healer sat Brethildíl down once Aldanna was stable, talking to her quietly while she sobbed, confessing how scared she was for her friend, and her cousin.

Gillion was not sure that Brethildíl should even be on this case, for she had a long personal history with the patient, and considered them best friends. He assured her that Aldanna's repeated cardiac arrests were not her fault, and were not from her treatment, it was just that her heart was under a lot of pressure from the surgeries and the huge demand which healing placed on her body. Aldanna remained stable while he comforted Brethildíl, and eventually Gillion promised to stay by Aldanna's side for the rest of the day.

Brethildíl did not leave, as Gillion had hoped. Instead she went to the bedroll Malthon had used the previous nights, curling up and falling asleep in seconds. Her eyes were closed.

Gillion wondered if the young healer had slept at all since her friends had been injured. He doubted it, in his heart, for he well remembered his own experiences when his childhood friends had been injured and killed during the Last Alliance. He had almost killed himself while attempting to save them, though ultimately his efforts had been in vain.

He hoped that Brethildíl would be spared the pain of losing those nearest and dearest to her, as he had done long ago. Even the most isolated Elves knew that war was coming, though it might be twenty or thirty years away. The Last Alliance had taken away everyone he had loved, except his much older brother.

If the Valar were kind, Brethildíl would be spared that pain.


	10. The Miracle of Life

Disclaimer: I own nothing recognisable

The Miracle of Life

Legolas had been denied entry to Tathar's room by the healers. Aldanna, however, was not off-limits to him. And so he spent his time in her room, often joined by Silivren or Malthon, and occasionally by Thranduil. Aldariel stopped at the door often, but she did not interrupt, only stopping to check that her son and niece still lived.

Tathar was still a bit touch-and-go, demanding all of Aldariel's attention. She had stabilised his rib fractures, but the young warrior had not improved as quickly as she had hoped. She was not letting his parents or cousins in to see him, though there was little she could do to prevent Brethildíl finding out about her cousin's situation.

Silivren allowed Legolas to sit by Aldanna's side, perching on a side table instead. Legolas spoke to his cousin in a soft stream of mindless prattle, while Silivren attempted to keep herself together.

Legolas did not even notice when the lithe warrior left, for Silivren made no sound, and did not click the door closed. Once she was far from the healing ward, though, she lost her fragile control and fell to the ground in a puddle of tears, where she was found by a warrior returning from patrol. Tuilë simply held the smaller elleth as she sobbed, before guiding her to her home, where she put Silivren to bed with a cup of strong tea.

In the training field which had once been use by trainees, in a time when there were children still being born to the Elves, Malthon faced a target with his great war-bow raised. In his mind, that target was not an orc, or troll, or any other monster of the Enemy. The target was his frustrations and worries.

Long ago, Malthon had been just a warrior, before he ever thought about training as a healer. He had married Silivren young, having fallen in love with the older elleth who shadowed the Queen while still training. He had fought in the Last Alliance, with his son by his side, surrounded by his friends. Many of them had died, due to a lack of healers available in the field. That was the day Malthon had decided he would become a healer, so that he would never again have to watch his comrades die. It was too late for him to save his friends, or his son.

It was not too late for his daughter.

Malthon knew that there was absolutely no precedent for bone replacement. There was no way to tell if the remaining bone would attach to the prosthesis, or if the metal would poison her in time. There was no way to know if she would ever walk again, or if she would be restricted to bed rest forever, only to fade from grief and despair.

As arrow after arrow thudded into the target, Malthon's thoughts ran wild. He had already lost a son. He could not lose a daughter, for such a blow would cause him to fade.

Brethildíl was in the library, attempting to find something, anything, which might help to direct her treatment of Aldanna. Caranfinril and Cûldol had allowed her to take charge, for they did not have any more experience than Brethildíl herself in the matter of a metal bone replacement.

She read every medical journal in Sindarin and the few which had been written in Silvan, and stumbled her way through the journals she could find in Westron and even Quenya, but nothing of the kind had ever happened before, as far as she could tell.

There was no telling what to expect. Brethildíl had no idea of the possible complications, or a realistic time frame for rehabilitation.

All she had going for her was that Aldanna was still breathing. _Unless she arrested while I have been in the library,_ Brethildíl realised with a sinking feeling.

Meanwhile, Legolas still chattered at Aldanna, oblivious to the drama going on outside the room.

He told Aldanna about their adventures as children, and giving their teachers a hard time while they were trainees. He reminded his cousin about their Warrior's Trials, when she had beaten him by a single point to claim the title of Winner. He told her about their trip to Dol Guldur, and how they had returned unscathed from that darkness.

His sisters dropped in on Aldanna, first Nímloth and then Lothlomë. Neither spoke to Legolas, only checking that their cousin was still breathing.

Nímloth's daughters Gilloth and Melloth slipped inside while Legolas begged Aldanna to wake up. The young healers were of no more use than Lothlomë had been, but after they left, Legolas found a pile of handkerchiefs and a plate of fruit. He did not know whom to thank for them, but he was glad for the food, for had forgotten to eat earlier.

Legolas was halfway through an entirely fictional story about an elleth named Eva whom he'd fallen in love with, when Aldanna murmured, "can I be the best man?"

Legolas stopped his fiction, looking closely at his cousin, who rested peacefully with her eyes closed. The only hint that she had woken was her breathing, which had become shallow and fast.

"You're awake!" he crowed, standing to lean over her for a gentle hug. "Aldanna, we thought you'd never wake up! Oh, I'm so glad you're alive!"

Aldanna cracked one eye open, looking up at Legolas and squinting against the sunlight. "Who's this Eva?"

Legolas sat back and laughed, the sound echoing through the solemn halls and bringing smiles of wonder to the healer's faces, though Legolas could not have known it. "I hoped if I said something outrageous enough you might wake up. I'm afraid Eva is just a story I made up to try to shock you into life."

"That's a pity," Aldanna murmured, shifting uncomfortably. "She sounds lovely. I would like to meet her."

"How are you feeling?" he asked suddenly, brows knitting in worry as he looked her up and down, noting the brown bruises which peeked past the bandages and sheets.

Aldanna opened both eyes, finally getting used to the light. She looked down, seeing little other than the sheet which obscured her body. "Like the pits of Thangorodrim," she answered, earning a sympathetic grimace from her cousin. "I cannot feel my legs."

Suddenly she started to panic, fighting against the pillows and blankets and plaster – and Legolas – to sit up. "Where are my legs? Did they take my leg? Legolas, where is my leg!"

The shouting attracted the attention of the healers, and the door burst open as Legolas attempted to calm Aldanna down. Gillion and Caranfinril rushed in, going to Aldanna and attempting to sooth her.

Finally the words all three Elves were saying sunk into Aldanna's foggy mind. "I still have my legs," she murmured, sinking into sleep.

Legolas panicked, not knowing if this was bad. Should she be falling asleep so soon? Had her panic attack worn her out? Would she ever wake again? Questions tumbled one over another through his mind, until he realised that he was being dragged out of the healing room by Gillion, who firmly pushed him into the hallway.

Brethildíl breezed past, not even looking at Legolas as she entered the room he had just been kicked out of.

He sat down in the hallway, sinking his head into his hands. Ten minutes later, he realised that someone was next to him, silently offering support. He turned to find Brethilríl, who smiled sadly at Legolas.

"I got kicked out of Tathar's room," he confessed to his friend. "Your mother and sisters are hovering over him like mother hens; they will not let anyone give him any cause to stress. Not after he ripped his chest apart."

"Aldanna woke up," Legolas offered in return after a moment of silence. "But then she panicked because she can't feel her legs. She thought the healers had taken her leg. Caranfinril and Gillion and your sister are inside."

As Legolas and Brethilríl waited, they couldn't help but wonder what would become of them if Tathar or Aldanna did not survive.

Neither friend was willing to give voice to his fears, but they drew silent support from each other as they waited for their cousins' conditions to change.

.

Tathar opened his eyes, blinking a few times in an attempt to clear his blurry vision. His chest ached dully, but he found that he could move, though sitting up was beyond him. He lay flat on his bed in the healing wing, and smiling softly in the corner was the Queen herself.

Aldariel approached Tathar slowly, seeming to drift on a breeze. He raised his hand to wipe his eyes, but the blurriness would not fade, though it did improve a little. "My Lady," he greeted her, the words using far more effort than they really should have. He took a shallow breath and attempted to ask after Aldanna, but his chest burst into pain, causing him to wince, and her to frown in concern.

"Just relax, dear," Aldariel soothed him, sitting by his bed. "You saved her life, everything is alright, she's alive, and you're going to be just fine, Tathar." He nodded, smiling weakly at the Queen, an elleth whom he considered an honorary aunt. He noticed that his breathing was quite shallow, but was loth to try breathing more deeply.

"Now, my dear," Aldariel said to him in a brisk manner, reminding Tathar that she was not only a Queen, mother and aunt, but also a Senior Healer. "I'm not letting you out of my sight until you start breathing normally again. We had to put you under some very powerful drugs to fix your chest up after you ripped my hard work right open, so I'm afraid those little areas of your lungs which collapsed last time are shut tight again."

She proceeded to guide him through not one but three different breathing exercises, which thoroughly exhausted Tathar.

His chest pain was phenomenal, and even the drip in his arm did not mask it all. Tathar grit his teeth and pushed on, for with each exercise Aldariel guided him through, his breath came easier, though he became exhausted quickly.

Finally he fell asleep, under Aldariel's watchful eye.

.

Aldanna first noticed pain. Her back ached dully. Her ankles felt tender and sore. But it was her thigh which stole her attention, burning with a ceaseless fire.

An idle though crossed her mind, _I'd rather hurt than feel nothing at all,_ before she realised with a jolt, _I have legs! I have two legs! They really did not take my legs!_

The next thing she noticed was the smell. It was a very clean smell, with the tang of freshly mixed herbs.

Then she realised someone was speaking, softly, as if to avoid disturbing a sleeper. The smooth low tone was unmistakeably male, and she realised that it was Gillion, a healer. She did not catch the words, for they were all run together and a fog was clouding her mind, but she did notice the different timbre of a higher voice, a female voice, a voice which held hidden wisdom.

She could not have guessed if it was Cûldol or Caranfinril speaking, but for either Senior healer to be in the room with a sleeping patient must mean something serious. Aldanna became nervous, but she could feel her legs, both of them, so the senior healer could not be waiting to tell her that she is now a cripple.

Finally she opened her eyes. The world was a little blurry, and she blearily blinked away the film which seemed to cover her eyes, to no avail. Soft footsteps made their way to her bedside, and a light weight settled on the bed beside her. "Aldanna," the elleth's voice said softly, and Aldanna turned her face towards the red and white blur she assumed was the healer's face framed by flaming hair. "Aldanna, can you hear me?"

"Yes," she answered, her mouth and throat strangely dry. "Water?" she asked, working her dry tongue around her mouth in an attempt to regain her normal sensation.

"I'm sorry, Aldanna, you're nil by mouth until we you can swallow properly. The vein vine is keeping you hydrated."

Aldanna nodded, though she felt no better about the dry mouth and throat.

Caranfinril spoke while the door opened and closed, though Aldanna could not see through her blurred vision whether Gillion had left or if somebody else had entered. "Aldanna, you are on the most powerful pain medication we possess. We can only keep you on it for a few more hours, lest you lose your vision permanently. When we take you off it, I'm so sorry, but you will be in pain."

"I'm already in pain," Aldanna tried to say, though the words came out half-formed.

"Where do you hurt?"

"My thigh burns. My ankles ache. My back aches a bit less. My forehead hurts when I move my face," she summarised for the healer.

"Your ankles were injured, but they will heal with time. There is a cut on your forehead, which has been cleaned and dressed, and that will likely not even leave a scar. You had some swelling in your spine, and I'm afraid I can't tell you what damage there is until we test it. I had hoped it would block pain, but it seems we are not that lucky. Can you wiggle your toes?"

Aldanna tried, but she had no idea whether she succeeded, being unable to see or feel them. She noticed now that she did not actually feel her legs, or the sheets covering them, or the bed under them. She only felt the pain from them.

She started to panic. She had heard of Men suffering phantom limb pain after amputation. "My leg?" she asked, as she started to struggle to breathe. "What about my leg?" she asked urgently, trying to stare into the healer's eyes but not really sure that she was looking in the right place.

"You still have your leg," the healer assured her, placing a hand on her leg, though Aldanna could not feel it. "But I am afraid that you will never be the same again. Your bone was shattered beyond hope of repair. We were planning to amputate, but your friend Brethildíl came up with a novel solution. I am yet to judge whether it is brilliant or stupid, but she insisted, and it means you have a chance to keep your leg, though I can't promise that it will work."

"What did you do?"

A familiar voice answered, and all of Aldanna's fears were washed away, though the fiery pain from her leg remained. Brethildíl was one of the youngest and most inexperienced healers in the Greenwood, but she had saved Aldanna's life countless times before. If Aldanna trusted any healer to achieve the impossible, it was Brethildíl.

"I replaced your bone. You have to give it time, for the remaining bone to attach to the implant, and for the muscles to knit back together, but I think you might walk again."

Aldanna relaxed into her pillows, a happy smile gracing her face where so much pain had twisted it into agony. "You are an angel," she declared, looking towards the fuzzy brown figure she guessed was her dear friend.

Brethildíl laughed happily. "Let's see if this works, first," she replied.

The senior healers soon left, and Brethildíl guided Aldanna through some breathing exercises. Soon the bladder attached to her drip was changed, and slowly Aldanna's vision cleared, though the pain in her leg became twenty times worse as the medication wore off. Once she could function through the pain, Brethildíl helped her through some more breathing exercises, and Aldanna could not for the life of her understand why her healer considered her intensely painful coughing fit to be such a great success, when it felt like she had hacked up her lungs whole.

She was left with a hollow reed, which had fine hanging strips at the end, and instructions to breath in through it five times every ten minutes. No matter how she tried, she could not breathe slowly enough to cause only the smallest strip to flutter, but the healers who checked in on her each hour assured her that trying was all that made the difference.

It was dark when she finally managed to open her lungs up to allow normal breathing.

She did not fool herself for one second that she had achieved any major victory, though.

The hard part was still to come.


	11. Pain

Disclaimer: I own nothing recognisable

Pain

Brethildíl glared at the demon before her. Its very existence insulted her, the idea that such a monstrosity could even exist in this world revolted her, and the reek of rotting flesh it exuded filled her with revulsion.

The black hood cloaked its face in shadow, masking all but its eyes, which glowed with an unearthly light, white but oddly writhing, as if maggots crawled under the surface. On a hospital bed in the distance, Aldanna stared at them, fear written across her delicate features as she begged Brethildíl to do something, anything, so that this monster would not claim her.

_Don't let Death take me_, she pleaded.

Brethildíl sat at a table, placing her right elbow on the solid surface. Death, the cloaked figure she faced, set a distorted and unnaturally thin bladed sword against the wall, before sitting opposite the healer. It placed its own right arm on the table, the sleeves of its cloak falling back to reveal the rotting flesh and half-revealed bones and sinews of an old half-decomposed corpse.

The healer took a steadying breath to prepare herself, then nodded resolutely at Death. She gripped its hand in her own, the bones creaking in her grip and the flesh shifting sickeningly. A few maggots wriggled out of their clasped palms, tickling Brethildíl's hand as they fled her living touch.

Death counted down out loud, in Black Speech, and yet somehow Brethildíl understood what he was saying.

_Three. _

_Two. _

_One._

The slight young Elf gripped Death's hand with all her strength. Gritting her teeth, she forced all her effort into wrestling Death, knowing that the prize was her friend's life. Death was stronger, and her arm was forced back, sinking inexorably towards the table.

There would be no do-overs. No second chance.

Death was winning. It was stronger than she was, it was overbearing, unyielding. There was nothing Brethildíl could do.

But she was not ready to let go just yet. She would not just let her friend die!

Death would not take Aldanna, not today.

Growling, she forced all her strength into her arm, and slowly the joined fists rose, reaching the vertical. Beads of sweat formed on her brow, and she blinked to get the sting out of her eyes.

Death's grip was waning. Slowly, ever so slowly, the bones in its wrist began to creak and crack, until a loud _snap_ cut the silence like a bolt of thunder in the night. But Death was not ready to relinquish this soul to the healer, and a growl emerged from the depths of its hood.

A red glow seemed to come from under the hood, but the healer soon realised that her opponent's eyes were glowing, their previous white gone, replaced by this unearthly red horror. Death took the advantage as he forced the healer's hand down against her will.

The fight was not going her way.

No matter how hard Brethildíl fought, she could not force the joined fists to rise. She shifted her elbow, losing precious centimetres, but managed to gain them back and some more, in the slightly adjusted position.

She was breathing hard now. No sound emerged from Death, but the red glow intensified.

The raised fists almost reached the midpoint. Brethildíl allowed herself one grim smile, before taking the advantage of the higher position, forcing Death's fist down.

The elation of winning was snatched away in an instant, when Death plunged all its strength into a final push, and Brethildíl's hand smashed into the table, a loud echoing _crack_ announcing the moment her bones split under the pressure.

Death rose, strode to the bed, which suddenly was close, and grinned sadistically at Brethildíl as it bent forwards, while Aldanna screamed for help. The screams echoed in the space, masking Brethildíl's despairing sobs.

Suddenly they were plunged into silence, as Death lifted its hood, leaning forwards and engulfing Aldanna, who disappeared under the hood in a puff of rushing black smoke. Brethildíl was silenced by horror for a second, before she launched herself at Death, fighting and screaming and biting and clawing, without even noticing her arm hanging by shreds of muscle and skin.

"Brethildíl! Shh, I've got you, calm down my dear, everything's alright!"

The words pulled Brethildíl back into the waking world. She gasped for air, clutching desperately at the person holding her tight. She realised that she had been fighting them during her nightmare, for she was exhausted, as if she'd just escaped a skirmish.

"Brethildíl, my love, calm down," the voice continued. "It's okay, everything's okay, you're safe."

The calming words were like a balm, and Brethildíl relaxed into the comforting embrace.

Belegcû wrapped her tight in his arms, murmuring comforting words as she calmed down. Kissing her brow, he rubbed a hand on her neck, in a gesture which helped to anchor her in the real world.

_Belegcû is home, and Aldanna is alive,_ she told herself. _You have no reason to fear Death. Death will not take anyone from you today, Brethildíl._

.

Legolas was allowed to visit Aldanna briefly, but he was soon hustled out by Gilion so that Aldanna could do her breathing exercises. He wandered in to visit Tathar, who was recuperating and restricted to bed rest, before attempting to visit Aldanna again.

Pain was all she could think about, all she could speak about. Legolas sat by her side, letting her squeeze his hand, threatening to crush the bones, as she told him about the pain.

She was already on the strongest pain killer they could risk, for the only stronger drug would have the effect of ruining her eyes if the healers put her on it again. It was working fine to block the pain from her ankles and feet, but the pain in her thigh consumed her.

Finally Legolas could stand it no more. He slipped his hand out of hers, and ducked out of the room, ignoring his cousin's protests, before collapsing on the floor in the corridor, out of Aldanna's sight.

He could not take it anymore, but he realised that she had no escape. This only made him sob harder, and when someone appeared at his side he simply cried into their shoulder. It was only later that he realised Nímloth his older sister was the one who had joined him.

Aldanna was starting to hate the word 'breathe' with a passion. It seemed that every breath intensified the pain, and soon the deep breaths and forced huffs caused her airways to clog up, or so it seemed to her, for she suddenly found herself choking on thick globs of dark mucous. Each time she coughed up more gunk though, the attending healer would congratulate her, and relentlessly continue forcing her to breathe in strange and difficult patterns.

Aldanna was not so interested in breathing exercises. She wanted to move. If she moved, the pain might stop. The pain which stemmed from the intrusive metal in her thigh was relentless and overshadowed her every thought.

Her legs still were painful ghosts to her. She spent her time sitting, propped up on pillows, and so she could see that her legs were attached to her body, but she still felt nothing but intense pain, and they would not move, regardless of how she tried.

She had a constant stream of visitors, mostly healers conducting tests or forcing her to do breathing exercises, but her family visited often. She tried not to speak of her pain, but her face betrayed her. Silivren and Malthon must have taken time off work, for one seemed to be always present, hovering at the edge of the room, often muttering to the healers that there must be some better pain relief available. Legolas and Thranduil visited often, though not for long, for Thranduil could not put his profession on hold, and Legolas was spending much of his time with Tathar.

Aldariel, Nímloth, Gilloth, Melloth and Lothlomë often visited her between caring for other patients, though none of them had the strength to stay by her side long, for she had fixated on the fact that her legs did not work, and spoke of little else, which distressed the healers.

She was vaguely aware that Belegcû had returned from his mission, but mostly because Brethildíl was undeniably happy and hopeful, even in the face of Aldanna's unrelenting pain.

The pain had to end sometime. The foreign object in her thigh was intrusive, and when Gillion removed the dressing from her wound it revealed a red, inflamed, angry area of abused skin, with a long scar already starting to form.

"It is starting to heal," Gillion explained to her, as he examined the wound. Aldanna looked on, noting that the pain did not increase when the healer touched the leg, instead staying exactly the same, a steady fire burning deep in her bone.

It was the middle of the night, and Caranfinril had just finished guiding her through yet more breathing exercises and supplying her with yet another bladder of strong pain medication, when Aldanna realised she could tell where her legs were without looking at them.

It was not feeling, not truly, and it might have been a figment of her imagination, having spent so many hours staring at her still legs, but it gave Aldanna hope, and it was something other than the all-encompassing pain. It was only vague, but it was unmistakeable; her hips were flexed, her knees were straight, and her ankles rolled outwards to rest her feet on the bed.

She fell into an exhausted sleep, but for once there was a smile on her fair face. Even the furnace which had made its home in her thigh could not dampen her spirits.

The next morning, she was woken with the dawn by Gillion, who changed the bladder supplying her with pain relief, before sitting by her side to examine her yet again.

As usual, Aldanna closed her eyes, and waited, desperately hoping that she might feel something as the healer moved her legs through a range of motion, or poked and prodded her.

Suddenly, her leg was moved, and her knee and hip were bent. Aldanna's eyes flew open.

"What is it?" Gillion asked, as Aldanna stared at her leg, suspended in the air by the frozen healer's hands at knee and ankle.

"I can feel it," she breathed. "I can feel you moving my leg."

Gillion smiled warmly. "That's wonderful," he said. "That means the swelling in your spinal cord is decreasing. Close your eyes, tell me what you feel."

As she obeyed, Gillion continued to move her leg, stretching the muscles and joints to keep them mobile. Aldanna burst into happy tears as she described the movements, and when Gillion moved to the other side, she could feel movement in her right leg, too.

It did not block the simmering heat in her thigh, but it was a wonderful improvement.

The next day, when Caranfinril ran the tests on her legs, Aldanna noticed something else through the pain. "Your hands are cold," she murmured through a wide smile. "I can feel your hands, they are cold. I can feel your hands!"

The rest of that week went by without change. Caranfinril tried to change her onto lesser pain relief, but Aldanna could not handle the furnace in full flame, and had to be returned to the stronger medication. She continued to attempt to move, with and without healers present, desperately hoping that this time, _this time_, there would be some change.

Her thigh bones were starting to adhere to the metal, or so Caranfinril and Brethildíl told her, when they took her left leg through the familiar passive movements and found something indescribably different about her skeletal stability. Aldanna could not make heads nor tails of this discovery, but she understood that it was good, it had to happen for her to heal.

She could not be sure, but the furnace seemed to turn down the heat, just a little. It was more like a slumbering dragon's belly-fire, threatening to break into flames at the slightest provocation, but contained for the moment.

For the first time in a week, she slept through the night, without waking from the pain.

It was while Silivren sat with her that she finally managed a twitch.

She shouted, sitting forward, staring at her foot, and ignoring her confused mother, whatever Silivren had been saying fading into utter insignificance.

"Look! Nana, look!" she shouted, pointing at her right foot. She tried again, and the big toe twitched, flexing for a moment before relaxing. "Nana! Nana! I moved! Eru, I moved!"

Her excited shouts had drawn the healers, and while Silivren jumped and shouted in celebration with her less mobile daughter, Aldanna shouted for all to hear.

"I moved my toe! I moved my toe! _I moved my toe!_"

As Caranfinril, Brethildíl and Gillion beamed at her, with wide smiles and hope shining in their eyes, Aldanna realised something.

She had hope.

Movement was hope, and she had movement, which meant she had a reason to hope.

_I will never give up,_ she promised herself.

_I am going to heal, and I will fight til the end._


	12. The First Steps are the Hardest

Disclaimer: I own nothing recognisable.

The First Steps Are the Hardest

She was alone for the time being, her father having left with Caranfinril after her initial breathing exercises this morning. A pillow had been left under her knees, and she was propped up almost in full sitting.

Screwing her face up with concentration and effort, she tried to lift her heel off the bed, to straighten her knee. She curled forward, balling her hands into fists with the effort. A great pain grew in her thigh, drawing a sharp line from her hip to her knee, as strong as the forge still smouldering deep in her bone. She clenched her teeth, glaring at her knee, and suddenly her leg moved.

Aldanna fell back on her pillows, blonde hair tangling in her eyes and sticking to her now sweaty forehead, but an exhausted smile formed on her face.

_I will walk again,_ she promised herself. _I will not let them take my leg. I will walk again._

There was a knock on the door, and a moment later it opened, Gillion on the other side. He strode over to her, greeting her with a few words. Soon they were yet again testing Aldanna's legs, and when Gillion replaced the bladder with more pain relieving medication, he explained what he had found. Words Aldanna didn't understand meant little to her, but she understood that she was improving, and her spinal cord was getting better. Her ankles were more or less fine, though she wouldn't be able to walk too much on them.

_Not that I can walk anyway,_ Aldanna bit off the bitter sentence before she said it. She could not afford to be bitter, not now. She needed to be full of hope and determination. She needed to be like Brethildíl, who had lost all doubts since Belecgû had returned, alive and well.

Gillion left, and the days continued much as they had been. She was visited by her family regularly, and though her uncle Thranduil could only spare time to see her once each day, her cousins came by as often as she could wish.

Legolas stayed with her when he was not with Tathar, and once Brethilríl even visited, though he returned to his cousin after assuring himself that Aldanna was well looked after.

Brethildíl came in one day to find Aldanna sitting straight up, poking and prodding her leg. "Aldanna?" she asked as she approached the bed.

"Brethildíl," her patient greeted her, a wide smile forming on her face. "This is the strangest feeling. I can feel my touch, and I can feel the sheets, and I can feel the pain deep inside my leg, but when I press, nothing."

Brethildíl shook her head at her friend's wide grin. "You've been on painkillers far too long, it's starting to make you loopy."

"No, it's not!" Aldanna argued, grinning even as she spoke. "It's really strange!"

"Let me have a look," Brethildíl ushered Aldanna to lie back on the pillows to let her legs be examined. Aldanna rolled her eyes even as she obeyed. She stared idly at the ceiling, enjoying the simple idea that she knew where Brethildíl was touching her leg.

"Nothing ever changes," she said. "You do these so often and it's always the same. Can't we just skip them?"

Suddenly Brethildíl yelped, looking down at Aldanna's leg in shock. "What was that? Aldanna asked, abruptly losing her cheerful disposition as she frowned in concern at Brethildíl's hands on her leg.

But her healer was smiling, tears shining in her eyes. "Your spinal reflexes have returned! Oh, this is wonderful!" Still with her own knee hooked under Aldanna's, she repeated her test of tapping the tendon below the knee sharply. Aldanna's leg kicked up of its own accord, surprising Aldanna, who felt nothing – not the tap, not the movement, though she could tell somehow that her knee had moved, though it felt as if some outside force had straightened her knee.

Brethildíl moved her hand to Aldanna's ankle, pressing down lightly. "Push your foot up," she ordered. Aldanna did as she was asked, though she did not understand what was happening.

Brethildíl crossed to the other side of her bed, this time repeating the tests on the left. Now, Aldanna felt the sharp pain flare up from hip to knee, but the same movement happened. The healer, now exuberantly grinning as she bustled about in excitement, moved on to test Aldanna's ankles with a similar tapping technique, and again Aldanna involuntarily kicked, though this time it was only with her ankles.

"Something's changed," Brethildíl breathed, looking up at Aldanna, before starting to poke and prod at the wound on her thigh. "Do you feel this?"

She continued to do more tests, though she found nothing else of interest, other than the crude movements Aldanna had finally gained in her big muscles.

Brethildíl was so excited with this progress that she insisted Aldanna sit up on the edge of the bed, which proved to be a slow, painful process requiring a lot of assistance and leaving Aldanna breathless and dizzy. When she was once more half-lying comfortably in bed, Brethildíl left to allow her a rest.

Not two hours later, Aldanna was woken up by the door opening, admitting Brethildíl and Caranfinril.

"Aldanna," Caranfinril greeted her, pulling the hard chair up to the bed to sit beside her patient, "it seems that your spine is healing quite nicely." She smiled kindly as Aldanna waited for the 'but', though it never came. Instead, the senior healer said, "You never cease to amaze me. When I saw that shattered femur, I thought there was no way you could possibly survive. I look at you today, and I wonder if there is anything you cannot do. You are in no danger of losing that leg, my dear."

"Really?" Aldanna asked, tears glistening in her eyes. She almost couldn't believe it, and looked to Brethildíl for verification.

"When you can straighten your knee on your own, we're going to try walking."

Brethildíl's words barely registered in her brain. Walking?

She was not going to lose her leg. She was going to walk.

The seed of hope in Aldanna's chest suddenly was more powerful than the furnace in her thigh.

.

Brethildíl was over the moon. Everything was slotting into place, all her fears and doubts were proving unfounded, and life was good.

Her husband had returned from his secret mission, which took a great weight off her chest, for she had feared for his safety every day. Aldanna was healing, and in no danger of relapse, which took the other great weight off her chest, for the time she had not spent fretting over Belegcû she had been completely absorbed in finding a way to wrestle Aldanna back from Death and fading.

She pottered around the healing wing, gathering together items she would find useful in Aldanna's rehabilitation, and found herself looking forward to dinner that evening. She had kept Belegcû all to herself the previous evening, for it was his first day back, having returned during the night – when she'd had her nightmare, actually.

Tonight, she was sharing her husband with their friends. Legolas and Brethilríl would be bullied into leaving Tathar alone by Aldariel or Cûldol, allowing Brethildíl and Belegcû to drag them down to dinner. Some of Belegcû's comrades would be joining them, too, and while the healer did not relish hearing too many stories of battle and skirmishes, she enjoyed spending time with her friends.

This afternoon she would get Aldanna walking.

This evening she would dine with friends and family, and Belecgû would reveal the details of his oh-so-secret mission.

And this night, well, tonight Brethildíl planned on getting very little sleep, after removing that beautiful tunic her husband wore oh-so-well.

Life was good.

.

Three hours later, Aldanna sat on the edge of the bed, gripping Brethildíl's shoulders for support. The healer stood in front of her, balancing her, and speaking in soft tones until Aldanna's head had stopped spinning. Gilloth stood a short distance away, holding the vein vine's bladder post, and ready to offer assistance in whatever way her cousin needed. Melloth was on Aldanna's right, a hand behind her back as she sat beside her cousin. Aldanna gripped a tall walking frame, which she could lean her elbows on when standing for extra support.

Brethildíl scooted to Aldanna's side, sitting next to her, supporting her left side with an arm about her waist and a hand in front of her shoulder. "On the count of three," she said, "we are going to stand up. You can lean on me."

There was absolutely no doubt in the healer's voice. She wasn't going to try standing up. She was going to stand up. "One, two, _three,"_ they suddenly rocked forward, and Aldanna was lifted onto her feet more by the healers than her own muscle power. Wide eyed, she focussed as best she could on the wall, trying to quell the spinning in her head, and the slight nausea from the sudden motion.

"You're having a bit of postural hypotension," Brethildíl explained as they waited, still and otherwise silent. "Just wait for it to pass. Hold the frame nice and tight, there we go."

Aldanna knew no more.

.

Brethildíl repeated the sequence for the fifth time that afternoon. Sitting beside Aldanna, with one twin on her right side and the other ready to move the vein vine – if they ever got far enough to actually take a step – she rocked the three of them up from sitting to standing, pulling Aldanna towards herself in order to force weight to go on her left leg. The first couple of times Aldanna had fainted from postural hypotension, as the blood left her head from the sudden transition to standing and the need for more blood pressure to raise blood up against gravity.

The next couple of times Aldanna had fainted from pain, when taking weight on her injured leg.

Now, as they stood still, Aldanna took a deep breath. She nodded sharply, and Brethildíl pulled her further towards herself, instructing her to take a step with her right leg. This time, though Aldanna winced, she did not fall, and neither Brethildíl nor Melloth had any need to catch her.

"Excellent, Aldanna, let's move forward," she said, encouraging her dear friend to try another step.

It was on the third step that Aldanna pitched forward to throw up, before slumping unconscious in Brethildíl's arms.

Even this setback was not enough to quell Brethildíl's good mood. It was only to be expected, after all.

.

By the next evening, Malthon and Silivren had been taught how to assist Aldanna to walk with the hopper frame. Aldanna insisted on trying whenever she had a chance, and Brethildíl had quickly become exhausted by the frequent fainting spells, though she did not lose any of her enthusiasm.

Aldanna's gait was awkward and unwieldy, but as the spinal cord inflammation went down, this faded until she was almost as coordinated as she had been before the injury. Her left leg was weak and the scars – front and back – marked where the muscles had been split. Aldanna suffered from sensitivity to pain, and continued to be dosed with the strong painkiller through the vein vine, though they often tried to switch her onto a lesser level of pain relief.

By the end of the week, Aldanna was walking on her own, though she relied heavily on the walking frame. Eregalen, the woodworker, had modified the frame so that the bladder for her pain relief could be hung from a pole attached to it, allowing her a little more independence.

Caranfinril and Gillion spoke to Silivren and Malthon about sending Aldanna home.

She was a miracle case. She was walking after an injury which should have left her an amputee. What more could they ask for?


	13. I Don't Care How Much It Hurts

Disclaimer: I own nothing recognisable.

A/N: Sorry it took so long. I've had no internet at all for almost two weeks.

I Don't Care How Much It Hurts

"Tathar!"

The shouting distracted Tathar from his attempts to braid his hair in a way which made the bald patches less visible. "Legolas?" he asked, turning away from the mirror and pretending that he had not been fussing over his hair – or lack thereof.

"Aldanna walked from her bed to the washroom! That's a whole three yards!" Legolas announced joyfully, grinning as he all but jumped about Tathar's sickroom. "Oh! and Cûldol and my mother say you're free to go – they're discharging you! As long as you don't go stressing the wires in your chest you can go home!"

Tathar laughed. "I'll believe that when I hear it from a healer. I've only just switched to oral pain relief."

Legolas rolled his eyes and sat down in the little wooden chair, while Tathar climbed back into his bed, sitting on the edge. He pulled his loose shirt down to show Legolas the wicked scars already forming on his chest. "Check my battle scars," he said, revealing the double rows of star-like white lines crisscrossing their way down his chest. "Cûldol says the scars will fade in time, but for now I've got a constellation on my chest!"

"While all I have to show for it is the worry lines on my face!" Legolas joked, shaking his head. If only this whole incident could fade into history like scars on an Elf's skin.

Finally Aldariel appeared, entering the room with a wide smile on her face. "Tathar, Legolas," she greeted her son and the warrior she considered a fourth son. "Here are your discharge papers, Tathar. Sign at the bottom," she handed him a small stack of parchments and a quill with a small pot of ink. "You can go home, but no training. Come back in a month so I can take out the wires. Try not to lift anything – that includes practise weapons – and absolutely no fighting. I don't want to fix your ribcage yet again."

.

Aldanna glared at her walking frame.

She was able to feel everything now, though pain still was blown out of all proportions. Her left thigh felt like sandpaper and shards of glass were caught in the tissue, rubbing painfully with every movement. A dull burning was still present, though it had localised to two places: one above the other, at either end of the implant where it met bone. Caranfinril assured her that it was the bone attaching itself to the implant which was causing her so much pain.

Walking. It had seemed like such a daunting task, and such a window of opportunity. If she could walk, it meant she would get better, she would not be bed-bound forever.

Walking meant she would not fade.

Walking. Such a little thing, yet it was so bloody hard. She still leant heavily on the walking frame, relying on it entirely sometimes, for she found herself shying away from putting weight on her left leg.

Gillion had encouraged her to use the leg, to put weight through it, to force the bone to adhere to the implant properly. She only hoped that he was not making things up to keep her occupied and distracted from the fact that this was the best outcome she could hope for. Three yards was all she could manage, before she would have to sit down to rest.

The forced inactivity drove her crazy.

She looked into the mirror, standing straighter as she took her weight off the walking frame. Her eyes were gaunt and lifeless, and her skin was pale from seeing no sun. Even her lips had lost the spark about them, usually ready to smile at the slightest provocation, now pulled into a worried pout.

She did not recognise the face in the mirror.

"I am Aldanna Silivreniel," she reminded herself. "I am a warrior, and I faced the Necromancer and lived to tell the tale. I will not be defeated by a little rockfall."

She took a deep breath, and a hard glint entered her eyes.

"I will fight til the end. I will protect my people once more. I will run, and jump, and climb, and wield bow and sword again. I am Aldanna Silivreniel, and the enemy will fear my face."

Digging her sharp nails into the tip of one long finger, she drew blood, the prick of pain insignificant against the constant backdrop of the furnace in her thigh. Drawing the blood onto her cheeks like war paint, she grimly glared into the mirror, her face transforming before her eyes into something she could almost recognise if she squinted.

Determination filled her as she stared over bloodstained cheeks. "I am a warrior. I am one of the deadliest warriors in this wood. I will not be defeated by a little pain."

.

Legolas, Silivren and Malthon stared at Aldanna's room, realising with sinking hearts that she could not return to it as it was.

Silivren cleaned up her daughter's messy room, placing armour and weapons in their proper places, and returning clothes – mostly tunics and breeches, but a dress was found half under the bed – to the linen basket where they could be taken to be washed. She wondered if her daughter had even once cleaned her room since her coming of age when she had moved out of the family suite into her own small flat, and sighed when she realised that the elleth had likely not even noticed that her room looked like a storm had passed recently.

Mathon pushed the bed into the corner, making more room beside it, enough to accommodate the walking frame. This action revealed a foot of space which had previously been hidden under the bed, and uncovered a treasure trove of childish collectibles, from feathers to rocks and arrowheads and even a small glass bottle of a dark liquid Malthon somehow knew was dye.

Legolas, meanwhile, was rearranging the sitting room to make space for Aldanna to navigate the room with a walking frame.

The three worked for an hour to tidy up Aldanna's flat, and when they were finished stepped back to admire their handiwork.

They did not fool themselves for one second that Aldanna would appreciate their effort.

After she was discharged from the healing ward, she saw her room and reacted in exactly the way her parents and cousin had predicted, by shouting and crying and refusing to believe that her condition was permanent. "No!" she cried into her father's embrace once her initial anger calmed down. "I'm not an invalid! I'm a warrior! I will be in the Guard again! I still have my leg, I'm not a cripple," she dissolved into silent tears, her last words so faint that her father was the only one to hear them, his ear being mere centimetres from her mouth as she sobbed into his strong shoulder.

.

The minute Legolas and her parents were gone, Aldanna threw the offending hopper frame out the window, smashing it to smithereens on the rocks of the mountainside below. _With you goes my weakness_, she promised the shards of the frame. _The hardest metals are forged in fire. I am forged by the fire in my leg. I was once the most promising warrior of my generation. I will be the greatest warrior this wood has ever seen. I am not afraid of death. _

_I will not sit idly by while my people go to war. _

Aldanna was not one of the old warriors from the Second Age, but she could feel the coming war as clearly as the old warriors. She would not be left behind when her friends went to war.

She was not at the Battle of Five Armies, such a short time ago, for she had been recovering from a spider attack. She would not suffer to be left behind, an invalid, again.

The pole which had held her vein vine she had detached and kept as a staff, for she knew that she could not manage on oral pain medication, not yet. It had been tried multiple times while she was in the healing ward, and each time the drip had worn off she had been engulfed in what felt like flames fanning from her thigh.

Brethildíl visited her multiple times a day, taking her for walks, and though she was scolded for throwing out her frame, the healer admitted that she was doing fine with just the staff, for she could now walk fifty yards continuously, though it did leave her breathless and unable to stand at the end of the distance.

She forced herself to walk, pushing through the pain. Each time Brethildíl visited, she asked for more of the pain relieving drug, which she learned was called morphine. Soon, Brethildíl just brought a bladder with her each visit.

Fifty yards was not enough for Aldanna. She walked until she could walk no more, and then she forced herself to stand. The burning and aching in her leg did not let up, but the fire and determination in her heart was stronger.

Breathing heavily from exertion, she eyed the little space Legolas had cleared in her sitting room, a space she could easily walk through. She put it to a different purpose, though, stretching out tight muscles and stiff limbs.

Her bow was hanging on hooks in her bedroom, probably placed there by her mother. When Aldanna finished stretching, she took up the bow, repeatedly drawing it and aiming invisible arrows at imaginary targets.

She fell into a routine over the first week, stretching and strengthening herself as far as she could in the limited space of her room.

She had few visitors, her immediate family visiting her as often as they could. Legolas had returned to duty, now that his companions were out of immediate danger, and even Tathar was keeping busy with rehabilitation. Brethilríl and Malthon had been sent on a mission to Dale, and Silivren had returned to her duties as bodyguard of the Queen.

Brethildíl was her only regular visitor, getting Aldanna to do gentle exercises for her leg muscles and breathing as well as walking.

She hid herself away in her room until she was sure she could walk a decent distance, at which point she started to disappear, climbing out of her window to go to the children's training field, a place which had been all but deserted since the twins and their agemates had reached adulthood. Only one child had been born in the Greenwood – to any Elves, actually – in the last century, Andunëthon, son of Nímlos and Bragolaglor, but he had not used the children's training field. He trained with the adult warriors, overseen by the Training Master Glínornmir and any number of willing volunteers, who welcomed the adolescent into the ranks of the warriors, eager to be part of the training of the last child of the Elves.

The children's training field was small and enclosed by the mountain's arms, making it all but impossible to see from the outside. Many passed through the Elvenking's Halls without ever knowing that the place existed, and no enemy had ever assailed the mountain and reached the field. It was perhaps the safest part of the mountain, with the possible exception of the King's bedroom.

To Aldanna's convenience, it was located a short distance from her rooms, and a path which lead to it passed below her window – though few other Elves perhaps would consider it so, as the path was one Aldanna had discovered as a child, requiring passage over a few grassy rooftops to reach the training yard. Her parents' apartment, the place she'd grown up, was a little further along the 'path', and she had used it to get to training any number of times in her youth when she had woken late.

She climbed silently over stone and grass and dirt, and soon reached the little field. She practiced archery for half an hour, and climbed the thick rope hanging from a rod sticking straight out of the top of the cliff above the field's edge. The exertion felt fabulous, and as she concentrated on her upper body she found that though she was deconditioned, she had not lost all her skill and strength.

The walk back to her room proved impossible, as she could not climb the wall below her window, having used up the last of her strength on a cliff-face which also formed a wall of the Halls.

.

Nar-rhiw found Aldanna, unconscious on the ground below her window. It was purely by chance that she had not been found hours later, for the warrior had argued with his brother and sought the isolation of the little-used path to cool off before finding the unconscious injured younger warrior.

He'd delivered her to the healing wards, of course, and she had been just asleep, and uninjured, but the healers wondered if perhaps the young elleth was not coping with her new limitations.

Caranfinril set Gilloth, Melloth and Brethildíl on Aldanna's case as suicide watch, to ensure that she did not do anything to injure herself further – like jump out of her window. They were wrong, of course, for Aldanna had no such thoughts, but the evidence all pointed to Aldanna perhaps being a little suicidal.

Silivren, though it pained her greatly, tried to gather up a group of Elves who might escort her daughter to the Havens, so that she could find true healing in the West.

Aldanna, when she realised that Brethildíl and the twins would not leave her alone, had other ideas.

"I'm going to do this with or without your help," she informed the three when she managed to get them all together. "I will not accept walking as the best I can do. I don't care how much it hurts."

Gilloth and Melloth exchanged glances, and gulped. Brethildíl took a deep breath.

"I will help you," she declared.

The twins nodded emphatically. "If Daernana finds out, we are not responsible," Gilloth declared.


	14. Catch Me When I Fall

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Catch Me When I Fall

The next morning, Lothlomë appeared at Aldanna's door, with a bright smile. "Aldanna!" she greeted her cousin. "I'm afraid you're going to be stuck with someone at all times, did you know you've been put on suicide watch? Oh! I wasn't supposed to tell you that!" she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Aldanna rolled her eyes.

"I'm not going to kill myself," she stated, settling into a comfortable armchair. "Why do people think that?"

"You've been locked in your room most of the time," Lothlomë explained. "And then Nar-rhîw found you on the ground outside. You don't let in visitors other than your family and your healers, and you're demanding the highest dosage of morphine it is safe to give you. You're probably already addicted, and I'm pretty sure it's substance abuse. Please don't tell Caranfinril or Gillion that I told you!"

Aldanna laughed, though the sound was not so happy as she would have liked, coming out sounding rather forced and a little sad. "I won't tell," she promised. "But you have nothing to worry about, my baby cousin. I've bullied your nieces and Brethildíl into helping me get back to running and jumping and generally being badass."

Lothlomë shook her head in wonder. "I see that I'm the only one of your suicide watch who actually was worried about you. You know, I'm sure the older healers have a reason for stopping your rehab at walking. Why don't you learn a trade, get a job? You could apprentice with Ladlaurë or Eregalen, or even Rílmir or Miriel."

"No," Aldanna argued immediately. "I'm not going to learn a trade. I am a warrior, and Ellin was teaching me to be a spy, at least, when she's around she does. I'm not going to be a seamstress or weaver, or a jeweller, or a weapon-maker. I have no eye for design. I'm much more interested in fighting the Enemy."

"You could be a healer like me," Lothlomë suggested.

Aldanna laughed, but the sound was devoid of humour. "There are some who are made for peace, and some who are made for war. Very few ever master both healing and killing. My father is one, and Lord Elrond another. I am not made for healing."

"Well, it seems I have no choice," Lothlomë stated, rising from her perch on the settee. "Get up. We're going for a walk."

"What? Where?" Aldanna asked, as her cousin pulled her to standing.

"Wherever you're planning on doing this rehab," the other blonde answered, flipping her long hair over one shoulder. "You can't go back to war if you can only walk around a room."

Grinning genuinely for the first time that morning, Aldanna carefully walked to the window, leaning on the stick which raised the bladder attached to her vein vine. "Help me down," she asked, and soon the two blondes were strolling down the path towards the children's training ground.

Lothlomë was delighted to find it empty, and she started Aldanna with walking around the field. Soon they moved on to upper body training, and Aldanna found her strength starting to return as she climbed the rope, her legs hanging free and her whole weight supported by her arms. They moved on to chin ups and push ups, and Aldanna hung from a branch to do leg lifts, which involved hanging straight and lifting her straight legs, bending at the hips to touch her toes to the branch. Lothlomë supported the vein vine the whole time, though it had to be disconnected for the rope climb.

They moved on to some leg strength, but at the first squat Aldanna keeled over, succumbing to the pain, or perhaps exhaustion.

Lothlomë carried Aldanna up to the healing wing to check her over properly, and Caranfinril fussed endlessly over her patient. When Aldanna woke up, she found Lothlomë, Gilloth, Melloth and Brethildíl crowding around her, a piece of parchment grasped in Brethildíl's hand.

"What's this?" Aldanna asked, squinting up at the four youngest healers in the realm.

"We have a new treatment plan," Gilloth announced. "We are going to coordinate, and you are going to get better. Hopefully you won't push yourself too hard, but I think that's too much to ask."

"I'm not just going to give up now," Aldanna stated simply. She pushed herself up to sitting, and glanced at the four faces surrounding her. "What's the plan?"

"Our suicide watch shifts are the same every day," Melloth started, "Lothlomë from dawn, Brethildíl from midday, Gilloth after dinner, and myself from midnight. You will work on your walking with all of us, to and from the children's training field. Each day you'll do upper body, lower body and core strength with Lothlomë. You will stretch and practice archery with Gilloth. You will work on your skills with Brethildíl."

Aldanna beamed at this news. The support of her family – particularly these young healers, who did not believe that Aldanna was doomed to fail, meant that her hope was kindled from a spark into a full-blown firework.

"Let's do it," she grinned.

.

It was two weeks later that Aldanna finally went a whole day without fainting. "Tomorrow," Brethildíl promised as they packed up their equipment, "We can try running."

"Yes!" Aldanna crowed, whopping and raising her staff – and its precious painkiller – above her head. It had been almost torturous working on the little skills, like stepping and dodging and wielding a wooden sword against an imaginary opponent, without moving on to the more relevant high-level skills she felt she needed to be doing now.

They celebrated by Brethildíl allowing Aldanna to duel in a proper spar. When Aldanna beat Brethildíl into submission, she grinned madly, stepping back off Brethildíl's shoulder to allow the slightly younger elleth to stand, and offering a hand (which the healer did not take for fear of pulling her patient to the ground).

Caranfinril had checked on Aldanna every evening after dinnertime, and was glad to see that she'd been eating dinner each night with Brethildíl and Belegcû and Legolas and Brethilríl, and often Tathar joined them. The senior healer warned Aldanna that she could only stay on the morphine for another few weeks, lest she be poisoned by it, and Aldanna's resolved doubled.

She would not be defeated by pain.

She would be a warrior once more.

.

Tathar waited impatiently for his wires to be removed. Four weeks seemed an unimaginable time, especially when he saw how slowly Aldanna was progressing. He himself was still not allowed to raise any kind of weapon, nor bear any weight, and he feared that his strength was waning in the intervening weeks.

By the time Aldariel and Cûldol removed his wires, he felt weak as a kitten.

His first day back at training was another week later; he was partnered with young Andunëthon, the only adolescent in the realm. The child grinned up at him, raised his wooden sword, and Tathar raised his own in response. Glínornmir barked the command to begin, and Andunëthon attacked.

Tathar defended himself easily, but a second later found himself pinned on the ground by the gleeful child. He growled, and pushed back to his feet.

"Again," Glínornmir demanded.

.

Brethildíl yelled instructions and encouragement at Aldanna, remembering their old lessons with Glínornmir when they had both been training as warriors. In the five weeks since Aldanna's last brush with death, she had improved wonderfully, and could now run thirty steps before fainting, or walk for an hour. The healer had resolved to test the strength of the bone's attachment to the implant before allowing Aldanna to ride a horse, and judged that today might just be the day she could test without fear of undoing all their hard work.

As she instructed Aldanna to sit down, and hook her leg over Brethildíl's knee, she applied a shear force through the femur at both points where the implant ended. "Tell me if this hurts," she instructed Aldanna, who shook her head.

"No more than normal," Aldanna stated. Brethildíl smiled.

"I think the bone's stabilised. If you want to try horseback riding tomorrow, I think you're ready."

Aldanna actually shouted for joy, and hugged Brethildíl tightly.

.

The last of Aldanna's strange lack of sensation vanished, and her coordination returned seemingly overnight. She had the staff with the vein vine permanently in hand, still relying on the morphine for pain control, but other than that she was all but returned to full function.

Her archery was almost back to normal, though she lacked quite the power behind her draw that she'd previously possessed, but that would come with time and practice. She spent the vast majority of her time on the abandoned children's training field, and had reclaimed most of her prowess.

She had only duelled with Brethildíl and the three Loths, who were healers, but each had trained as a warrior when they were young, and she knew from experience that Brethildíl was a capable swordswoman.

The true test was yet to come, though.

She had come a long way, but she was not naïve. She knew that she could not rely on the morphine forever.

Caranfinril had warned her that this week she would have to be taken off morphine, lest the drug poison her. Aldanna had no choice; the vein vine had to go.

She went to the healing wing with Gilloth at her side, after dinner on the night she had been told would be the night she would lose the vein vine. Brethildíl soon appeared at her other side, offering silent support, for which Aldanna was grateful.

The three walked silently to Caranfinril's office, and Aldanna knocked politely on the door.

Caranfinril opened the door, admitting the three in with a slight smile. "Aldanna," she greeted her patient, who nodded back politely.

"I'm ready," she declared. "I know it will hurt, but I can take it."

Caranfinril nodded, gesturing to the plinth in the corner. Aldanna took a seat on its padded surface, and the senior healer bustled through her cabinets and drawers, collecting bits and pieces of equipment.

She turned to face Aldanna, offering a cup of poppy milk mixed with willowbark tea. "This is not nearly as strong as the morphine, but it is an opiate, and it will help. It is still a level up from basic willowbark tea, but I think you will need it. It is as addictive as the morphine, so I'm afraid there is only a certain time I can allow you to use it."

"I understand," Aldanna responded, taking the cup. "Do you want me to drink it before you take away the vein vine?"

"Yes," Caranfinril answered immediately. "It will take about twenty minutes to fully start working. By that time the morphine will have started to wear off.

Aldanna swallowed the drink in two gulps. It tasted horrible, but she supposed that was the point – anything to deter dependence on the stuff.

Caranfinril took the vein vine out carefully, and though Aldanna winced, she did not protest. Brethildíl had taken it out and replaced it minutes later each day when she'd climbed the rope; and Aldanna was almost used to the sickening feeling of a thorn moving inside her vein.

They waited for Aldanna's response to the lighter pain medication. Caranfinril, Brethildíl and Gilloth discussed Aldanna's treatment plan from thereon, while Aldanna mildly watched, amused that neither Brethildíl nor Gilloth gave away any hint that they had their own treatment plan, which was aiming for much more than basic function. Caranfinril suggested Aldanna have a meeting with one of the craftsmen in the wood, perhaps to learn a trade, and she promised that she would visit Taurwen the baker, though she had no plans to do any such thing.

The pain did not come on all at once. As the morphine wore off, the opiate kicked in, but slowly, inexorably, the furnace in her thigh was relit. That was the only pain, though, for her spine and ankles were healed. Aldanna sweated lightly even just sitting still, but behind her pale face determination lurked.

Brethildíl smiled encouragingly.

Aldanna could do this.

The pain would not defeat her now, when she was so close to returning to normal life.

.

Epilogue: Light at the End of the Tunnel

Aldanna entered the throne room, striding straight up to the throne, and knelt before her King and uncle. "I come before you to request that I may enlist in the army," Aldanna stated solemnly, rising to her feet to meet Thranduil's surprised eyes.

"Aldanna?" he asked, brows knit with concern. It was clear that he was not expecting this when Aldanna had been announced as the next subject requesting an audience with the king.

"I will not sail. I know that some here have planned to escort me to the Havens, but I will not sail. I will not fade here. I no longer require a morphine drip. I can manage on simple analgesics to control my pain, which lessens every day. I am one of the most highly qualified warriors in this Realm, and I am willing to serve. I will go where others will or cannot, and I do not fear pain of death."

"What do you fear?" he asked, wondering if perhaps his niece was seeking death in battle. If that were the case, he would not let her join the army again, under any circumstances, whether the healers said she was fit or not.

"A cage," she answered immediately. "To be kept behind bars until use and old age accept them, and all thoughts of valour are beyond hope or desire." The words sent a chill down Thranduil's spine, though neither he nor she ever realised that twenty years later, a young Rohirric princess would say the same thing to the returning King of Gondor.

"Why do you wish to join the army?" he asked, wanting to ensure that the elleth wasn't seeking death as a respite from the cage she clearly perceived her injury to be. He was pleasantly surprised by her answer.

"I am healed, more or less. My pain can be controlled. I am a warrior, and I can feel war coming, a war which will change the fortunes of all. I will not let my friends fight alone. I cannot sit idly by, learning a trade, or sailing into the West, while my family and friends are in danger. I believe we all have a part to play in the saga of our world. Some are great leaders, some are great healers, and some perform great deeds which we cannot imagine. Some are made for war. I am no healer, no leader. I am no craftsman. I am a warrior. I belong with my comrades, holding back the tide of darkness we can all feel coming."

"If you can prove to Thaliondil and Glínornmir and Bragolaglor that you are ready, you have my blessing to re-enlist, Aldanna Silivreniel," Thranduil stated with a nod. "Don't push yourself too far," he added. "Take all the time you need. Your patrol will be waiting for you."

Aldanna smiled, the bright expression chasing clouds away from even the most stoic advisor in the hall. "I will prove myself," she promised, bowing, before turning to leave, finding to her surprise that Bragolaglor and Thaliondil joined her, curious to see if she really was ready and able to re-join the army.

.

A/N: She survived! And so we come to the end. I may do a little research into weaning from addictive substances (morphine and opiates, specifically) and there may be a sequel if I can weave it into a story about Aldanna kicking her addiction to the painkillers.


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